The love accident
by brainstorm1001
Summary: Sequel to 'The cave incident'. Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort must learn to work together to prevent eradication of the whole British wizarding community. But the outcome of their cooperation might not be what they expected. HPLV. Drama, humor, romance
1. Back to school, part 1

**Author's note:** Hello, I'm back with the sequel to 'The cave incident'. First of all, I must apologize to all readers who were unpleasantly surprised by the change in rating. Yes, The love accident will contain some adult themes (Harry's twenty, no other explanation needed :D) and so it was necessary for me to take this step. For those of you who don't want to read the mature content, however enjoyed TCI, I will give a warning at the beginning of each 'improper' chapter.

Thank you for your understanding.

Rating of this chapter: K+.

Special note: **TheSecretUchiha **kindly agreed to be my beta even for the sequel, for which I'm immensely grateful. Thank you!

xxxxx

**Back to school, part 1**

xxxxx

_26__th__ December 2000, early in the morning_

_Hogwarts_

Harry Potter was dreadfully, totally cold. Chilled to the bone. And what was worse, he was also sore as if he just finished a fistfight with a furious troll. And lost.

And he couldn't even complain about that because he knew he shouldn't be wandering outside in the wee hours of a winter morning dressed only in his trousers and undershirt, especially after trying to beat down opponents who could easily overpower him hundred times.

Unlike Harry, ordinary people were wise enough not to do such foolishness.

As for that, normal people didn't usually carry around their archenemies either.

But Harry did all of that, because no matter how much he tried, he didn't exactly belong among 'ordinary people'. Such abnormal things happened to him - well, if not every day then very often. He learned to live with this 'curse' - or whatever it was – during his twenty and a half year long existence, but sometimes it was more difficult than ever before.

Just like now.

He looked up at a pair of winged boars sitting on top of the tall pillars on either side of an ancient gate. These silent guardians patrolled the large castle grounds for centuries.

Hogwarts … the only place where he ever truly felt home.

He repressed a rush of nostalgic memories which relentlessly jumped back into his vision and looked down at the yew wand in his palm, which he 'borrowed' from its master.

Harry couldn't believe what he was about to do but it wasn't like he had any other choice. He took a quick glance at Lord Voldemort whose head still rested on his shoulder; those cruel, sanguine eyes were peacefully closed and the warm breath against Harry's neck was still quick and shallow.

"Er, I wonder if I can do the spell correctly with this wand," he wondered. "I guess there's only one way to find out."

The Dark Lord didn't show any response. From what he saw, Harry could confirm that the man was apparently uninterested in the course of events at the moment.

"Okay..." the raven-haired youngster said quietly, disregarding Riddle's indifference. He closed his eyes too, took a deep breath and imagined 'the toad' and 'the bloodsucking freak' being kicked out of their posts, running away from the Ministry the same way Umbridge galloped from Hogwarts at the end of his fifth year. He let the feelings of rightful justification fill him to the brim, then he opened his eyes and called out aloud.

"_Expecto patronum!" _

A huge, brightly shining stag erupted from the tip of the yew wand, crossed the high wall in one monumental leap and quickly trotted towards the castle.

"Wow," he whispered. "Cool. It worked far better than I expected."

Voldemort didn't share his enthusiasm. He remained as unresponsive as before and Harry decided to use his impassivity as he rubbed his cold arms and then snuggled under his archenemy's long, heavy cloak so his limbs wouldn't be exposed to a greater risk of frostbite. He frowned a little and informed his unaware companion quietly. "Someone should come here soon and open the gate. Hopefully, it won't be the Headmistress in person."

Harry had absolutely nothing against Professor McGonagall. Actually, he admired the way she managed to govern the school in those difficult times. But he was also well aware of the fact that she was not going be thrilled to see him together with 'the main source of the difficulties'. Harry had to prepare very good arguments if he wanted to get the necessary help for Riddle and couldn't deny that he was worried whether he could pass this 'entrance test'.

After a minute or so, he could finally see a wobbling light of someone's wand approaching the gate. Harry squinted and tilted his head sideways, trying to recognize the person. For some reason he recalled how Snape came to retrieve him here, on the very same spot at the beginning of his sixth year. Deep inside he was immensely happy that his previous Potion and DADA teacher couldn't be the one coming here, because Harry was certain he would not be able survive that encounter. Though, it would probably be Snape's sneers and snide comments that would ultimately kill him, not the actual flash of green light.

Harry shook his head and let his previous Professor rest in peace, before he could start turning in his grave.

And then he realized that he just wasted two precious minutes by thinking of_ Snape_ instead of finding an acceptable explanation for Voldemort's presence.

"Fantastic," strained through gritted teeth. "Simply fantastic."

The only thing he managed to do in the rest of the time was lay Riddle down on the cold pavement. The teachers and the members of the Order would probably kill the Dark Lord first and only then ask what the hell he was doing here. And Harry was not willing to take that risk.

Just as the young raven-haired wizard placed his unmoving companion on the ground, he heard the chains snake backward and the gate creak open. That simple sound made his heart jump right into his throat. It continued to pump the blood into the rest of his body from that unusual place, making his whole head throb.

Harry gulped idly as a tall witch in emerald green robes emerged in front of him. Her face was strict and her lips were firmly sealed. Her black hair with several silver strands was drawn into a tight bun, emphasizing her rigor and dignity.

She slowly lowered her wand, its shining tip pointing directly into Harry's face.

_Professor McGonagall._

For a second Harry wanted to utter a vicious swearword, but fortunately stifled it in the very last moment. He rubbed his sore chest and coughed instead.

"Good evening … er … morning, Professor," he said quietly.

"Potter," she said plainly and raised her eyebrow as she contemplated the obvious lack of his clothing. Then she spoke in a stern voice again.

"Mr. Weasley informed me that you would come. I was told that the Fidelius Charm over the Order's base is not working properly. You've encountered an intruder."

The mention of that name immediately brought Harry's thoughts on his best friend.

"How's Ron?-!" he barked out, the other things such as a polite reply to the elder were suddenly unimportant.

The Headmistress's eyebrow jumped even higher. The gesture showed Harry that she didn't appreciate his reaction, nevertheless she excused his outburst.

"Young Mr. Weasley would be better if he had been given the healer's attendance sooner. However, Madam Pomfrey is very experienced. There's no need to fear for his life."

As Harry exhaled in great relief, McGonagall stepped aside and spoke again.

"Come in, Potter. You must not linger outside. You of all people should know how dangerous it can be."

At that point Harry's easement was wiped away as if it never existed. His heart returned to its previous spot in his neck.

"Er … Professor...," he began, wondering how to explain things when no ideas were coming.

"I didn't come alone … but please … stay calm … if you can," he said haltingly and, as the Headmistress's eyebrow nearly reached the top of her forehead, he stepped aside a little so she could see who exactly was lying on the ground behind him.

Her reaction was just as fierce as he expected. First, she made a sound as if she was drowning, then her chin dropped and her wand surged up, her eyes narrowing as she thought of the nastiest spells she'd ever heard. Harry jumped back in front of Voldemort, raising his hands in the air.

"Out of my way, Potter!" she screamed out, determined to exterminate the Dark Lord right on the spot.

"NO! PROFESSOR!" Harry yelled back. "Look at my hands! LOOK at my hand!"

She ignored him and Harry began to panic as she raised the wand to push him away.

"JUST TAKE A LOOK AT THE GODDAMN WAND IN MY HAND!" he screamed and her strict eyes involuntarily glanced in that direction. And she stopped, staring at it, completely silent.

"It's his wand, right?" Harry said quickly, urgently. "If it's his wand, then he doesn't have one, does he? It makes him … rather … harmless."

When her eyes finally left Harry's hand and looked right into his face, Harry could see how utterly incredulous she was. She placed a hand over her chest, squeezing her robes as though she was having a heart attack, and took two shaky steps backwards.

"Potter...," she gasped.

"Potter," she said again, her voice growing stronger. "You … you've really … _defeated_ … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? That's … but … that's _absolutely_ impossible!"

Harry didn't have time to feel insulted by the little faith she had in his abilities. Instead, he was happy that he managed to pull her out of her killing frenzy. Now she would listen to him at least.

"No, I didn't," he said quietly. "Professor, what I'm going to say now will surprise you, but please believe me that I am deadly serious about every word."

She said nothing, only blinked numbly. Harry had never seen her so befuddled as she was right now.

"Professor," he said slowly, quietly. "Voldemort's dying and I can't let that happen. I _must_ save his life. But I can't do that without the help of the teachers of Hogwarts."

Just as expected, she paled considerably and staggered backwards.

"_You must do … what?_ Potter... This is ... utterly … _insane_! I'm not the youngest … so if this is some kind of a morbid, terrible _joke_ then I swear..."

Harry took a resolute step towards her.

"Professor … how could this be a joke?" he implored and bored his eyes into hers, hoping she would see how serious he was.

"Do you trust me? Do you trust my judgement?" he continued, fighting despair which grew inside him when he didn't find any understanding in her gaze. "Because Dumbledore did."

She shook her head.

"Do _you _know what you're asking, Potter?" she said breathlessly. Her voice became steadier as she continued. "Because I cannot take this upon myself. Whatever reason you have – and I believe it must be a reason of incredible importance – I _will not_ willingly let You-Know-Who enter Hogwarts. That's out of the question!"

Harry bit his tongue so hard it began to bleed.

"What if I take the responsibility?" he asked quietly. "The children are not in the school, so they are safe, right? I swear that he will be gone before they return. He will not have his wand, he will be tethered. Still, if anything happens, only I will be responsible for it. Professor … I beg you … not for me, certainly not for him, but for everyone else. Because he's the only one who has enough power and knowledge to stop the _true horrors_ from happening."

She stood there, staring at him long enough for Harry's teeth to begin to chatter.

"Why would _he _… oh, well," she said then, her voice biting. "I don't know what horrors you're talking about, Potter. Honestly, if you weren't so resistant to the Imperius Curse I would prefer to believe that you were bewitched. But as your mind is generally too difficult to influence, this is probably not the case." Her voice grew colder. "Although, you could easily be possessed by You-Know-Who," she said and pointed her wand directly at him again.

It never occurred to Harry that she could think that and it surprised him how logical it seemed to be. It would be a risky, yet easy way for Voldemort to get into Hogwarts. However, Riddle would have to be able to possess him in the first place, which has been proven to be a problem in the past_._

"Professor," Harry whispered quietly and rubbed his cold arms nervously. "You surely remember the fight between Dumbledore and Voldemort in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic five years ago. Riddle couldn't defeat the Headmaster and so he decided to possess me, hoping that Dumbledore would kill me to get rid of him." Harry closed his eyes recalling the horrible pain he felt. Then he opened them again, speaking quickly. "But neither of us could stand that _feeling_. I though that Professor Dumbledore mentioned to you that … that Voldemort cannot control my mind … in any way."

She pursed her lips, her wand twitched in her palm and then she slowly lowered it to the ground.

"You really aren't You-Know-Who, Potter," she said with an even more restrained voice. "He would never call himself with his … muggle name."

She stared at him for another moment and then she finally, imperceptibly nodded.

"I shall listen to you, Potter … this once. I know that Dumbledore trusted you and that he was probably right about you in all aspects. Have it your way then, if you think that saving_ him_ is necessary. Still...," she paused for a second and though she said yes, her face showed a strong disagreement. "Still, I can't help but worry..."

Harry's knees nearly buckled in relief.

"Thank you, Professor," he breathed out.

"Don't thank me, Potter!" she snapped. "I'm not doing _you_ a favour! I do however expect _you_ to give me a full and precise explanation as why it is so essential to keep _that beast_ alive! And if I do not find it justifiable, he will _die_ that instant. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Professor," Harry muttered as he levitated Voldemort from the ground and shackled him with a binding spell.

"Also, Potter," she continued with revulsion, as Harry seized their enemy's body and carried it inside. "I cannot guarantee that Madam Pomfrey will be willing to take care of that … that _vicious criminal. _You must not hold it against her if she refuses to help that ...that_ gruesome murderer_."

"I'm fully aware of that," Harry said very quietly as he did not wish to agitate the Headmistress any further.

He watched her seethe quietly as she closed the gate and felt as if he just climbed Mt. Everest. It was extremely difficult, he should be happy that they made it that far, but if he wanted to save Riddle's life, there was still more than one obstacle ahead.

"Professor," Harry began quietly as she led him towards the castle, her pace fast and stiff. "Has Hermione arrived yet?"

Harry needed to know how she dealt with the Aurors and also if she was all right.

"No Potter, I have no information on Ms. Granger," she snapped without turning back to him and Harry didn't elaborate on it further. Professor McGonagall was obviously in a very ill mood and he didn't want to make it any worse.

As they were approaching the castle quickly, Harry's eyes drank in the familiar view. He couldn't wait to get in and warm up his frozen body by some nicely heated fireplace.

Just as they reached the staircase and Harry began to climb it up, he had a strange feeling that somebody just called his name. He stopped, looking around, listening intently. Even the Headmistress halted her pace, unusually impatient.

"Harry!"

Now Harry recognized the deep, grumbling and slightly inarticulate voice.

"Hagrid!" Harry called back, delight filling him as he looked around to see his old friend – before he froze in terror. It occurred to him that it wouldn't be the best idea if Hagrid saw him _right now._ He glanced at professor McGonagall, hoping she would tell him what to do.

"HARRY!"

Oh no, Hagrid was almost there and the face of Headmistress was blank, unreadable, unhelpful. Harry couldn't decide his next action, he needed to get away, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

And then the half-giant was before him and Harry could only throatily mutter.

"Eh … hello Hagrid."

His friend didn't seem to notice his uneasiness. His bearded face beamed in happiness as he spoke to Harry so quickly that he almost became incoherent.

"Lo Harry! So good to see yeh! I jus' got up, makin' a snack for Fang when I look'd out the window and saw yer great stag runnin' 'bout. And I knew right then tha' yeh're here Harry an' I hurried after yeh so I could welcom' yeh back..."

"Th... thanks a lot ... Hagrid," Harry stammered, still frozen.

The half-giant suddenly halted, blinked his sleepy eyes, finding something strange about Harry's visage, something _redundant_ about him. It seemed that he couldn't momentarily comprehend what it was. The expectation of an approaching doom made all Harry's muscles tense.

Professor McGonagall was aware of the crisis too as she resolutely intervened.

"Well, Hagrid, Mr. Potter is certainly glad for your kind welcoming. I'm sure he won't mind talking to you later. Now, if you excuse us, we have...," she said firmly but couldn't finish the sentence as Hagrid suddenly bellowed.

"HARRY!"

Of course, it was not going to be that easy. Hagrid finally woke up enough to realize what exactly that 'redundant thing' on Harry was.

"Look, Hagrid...," Harry began – and could only jump aside to protect himself and the Dark Lord from the smite. His Seeker's reflexes saved them from being smashed by a huge cane which the half-giant used to support his tremendous weight as he walked.

"DON' WORRY HARRY! I'LL SAVE YEH! I'LL GET HIM OFF YEH!" Hagrid roared as he brandished the cane around Harry's head.

"HAGRID! … STOP IT! … I DON'T …. I DON'T NEED TO BE SAVED!" Harry yelled back as he tried to avoid another dreadful impact. It was a pretty difficult task with such a heavy body on his back.

Worse, Hagrid didn't listen to him, he just kept babbling something about saving Harry and squishing You-Know-Who.

Fortunately, it was the moment when the Headmistress stepped in again. With a flick of her wand Hagrid's cane disappeared and he glanced at his empty hands in utter surprise and then at the Professor, a silent question in his eyes.

"Hagrid," she said firmly. "Calm down first. Then you can go to wake up the rest of the teachers. We must increase the security around and _in_ the castle. Apropos, you don't have to worry about Mr. Potter's well-being. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is currently his … _captive_." McGonagall glanced at Harry as she emphasized the last word.

Hagrid looked flabbergasted.

"Blimey … Harry...," he muttered in an astounded voice. His mouth moved idly for several seconds and then he straightened his back and nodded to show that he was ready to take the best care of his duties.

"Righ'youare, Professor McGonagall, ma'am," he said towards the Headmistress and looked back at Harry.

"Yeh'll tell me everythin' later, will yeh Harry?" he said and winked kindheartedly at the young wizard before his wide body waddled away into the deep gloom of the early dawn.

"See you later, Hagrid!" Harry called behind him in a slightly uncertain voice. Deep inside he was relieved again and grateful that the Headmistress decided to help him. He couldn't possibly assault Hagrid – or anyone of his friends - because of Voldemort. That was something unthinkable. So he was really glad for this outcome. Mollified and a little more confident he followed Prof. McGonagall who quickly walked upstairs and approached the huge, oak front door of the castle.

She tapped the massive door with the tip of her wand and once they glided open, Harry could finally breathe in a slightly warmer air carrying a familiar smell of torches and a musty odour of an old building. Once they entered and McGonagall closed the door again, she led him wordlessly through the empty corridors towards the hospital wing.

Harry found it somehow depressing to see the castle depopulated like that. He recalled that he used to spend almost every Christmas holiday here, but he never really noticed the lack of students at that time, because his friends never left him alone. Now, while he quickly trotted behind Professor McGonagall, dragging the Dark Lord along, feeling his sharp chin bruising his shoulder, he felt the true weight of a burden he picked for himself. No one will be able to understand his decision. No one will truly want to help him. It was a very oppressing experience. To make it all worse, he couldn't stop worrying whether Madam Pomfrey would run away screaming after seeing her new patient. And even if he miraculously managed to convince her to help Riddle, who said that she would know what to do right away? They'll probably have to call Professor Slughorn and Harry had a feeling he would have a serious problem facing the accusing stare of yet another person.

Maybe he was growing soft. When he lived by the Dursleys, he was being stared at like that all day long and he learned to live with that. But for past three years he was mostly surrounded by his friends who tacitly suffered his complains and mood swings which he couldn't hold back after Ginny's death. Yes, it definitely made him weak.

He had to pull himself back together. Now.

They entered the hospital wing and Harry gritted his teeth, mentally preparing to face the nurse's shock and revulsion. How could Voldemort possibly live with that? Maybe the lack of empathy and his ignorance of other people's feelings made him immune to their detestation.

"Stay here, Potter," Professor McGonagall said strictly and Harry nodded and watched her until she disappeared behind a white curtain where Mr. Weasley and Ron were probably recovering from their injuries.

Now he had to wait which was always the worst part.

First, he focused on keeping his breath steady. To distract himself he began to pace which helped him to get some warmth into his body. Then his thoughts began to wander and he considered all the things which happened tonight, thinking about how much time Riddle had left. He quickly skipped that thought as it made him unnecessarily distraught.

Harry continued to pace for another minute, then the next one and still no one was coming.

The warmth ultimately got under his skin and the sleepiness began to cloud his mind. Only the stress he still felt and the adrenaline in his veins kept him upright.

Also, his back was sore and his lungs still hurt, so he ultimately decided to place Voldemort on the nearest sick-bed so he could sit down and alleviate the pain.

Another moment ran by and Harry gradually became nervous. What if Madam Pomfrey refused to help Riddle? She could at least tell him this to his face. But, maybe she was too scared of Voldemort to even come here.

The feeling of defeat began to rise in the youngster's chest again. Did he get so far to ultimately lose? It seemed to be his fate lately.

A soft lisp of the curtain and quiet steps told Harry that someone was coming. He jumped down from the sick-bed where he patiently waited, trying and failing to keep his breath slow.

It was the Headmistress and yes, also the nurse. Harry pursed his dry lips, wondering what to say first.

"Madam Pomfrey...," he began, but she only raised her trembling hand and spoke in a quiet voice.

"Minerva told me that you need to save your … _prisoner_. She said it is _very_ important. She also told me _who_ that captive is. I ultimately agreed to … to check if there's something I can do. But first, we will wait for the guards. I will not approach _him_ until they come."

Harry glanced at Professor McGonagall, feeling a new surge of gratification towards her, but she refused to meet his eyes. She only glared at Riddle's unmoving body, clenching her hand around the wand as if she fought back the urge to see his intestines.

"Who'll be the guards?" Harry asked quickly to change the course of his thoughts.

"Professor Slughorn, Professor Flitwick and I," the Headmistress responded, her eyes never leaving Voldemort.

"So they know..."

"Every member of the staff is already informed, Mr. Potter," she said so strictly that it almost sounded as a retort.

"They must finish the Protection Charms first. Our safety is the priority. You do not oppose that, am I right?"

"No, not at all," Harry muttered and they waited another moment in a heavy silence until quick, almost running steps could be heard coming closer and closer … and then a corpulent figure of Horace Slughorn and a very short Professor Flitwick appeared in the door.

"We're here," Horace breathed out heavily. "Where's my hero … oh, Harry! Boy! Come here and show yourselves to me! You are so … so brave, young man! And such incredible skills you possess! You're not only an excellent potion maker, but you're also a great, brave fighter! Your parents would be so proud of you, you'll make the first class Auror, I bet...You're already...!"

"Professor!"

The Headmistress fortunately stopped Horace's tirade, before Harry's head could explode from five or ten different reasons.

"We don't know what happened yet. There's no reason to make preliminary conclusions. Mr. Potter only agreed to explain everything later. Until then we will try to … _deal with this matter_."

Horace nodded quickly and pulled out his wand and Professor Flitwick did the same, both of them looking at Voldemort with apparent apprehension. McGonagall turned to Madam Pomfrey then.

"Poppy, if it is all right with you...?" she asked quietly and the nurse slowly nodded and stepped closer to the Dark Lord, pulling out her wand as well. Harry was glad for her bravery and how she managed to hold back her aversion when she performed the examination.

After a minute or so she took a step backward and spoke aloud.

"I've only found one severe injury though it couldn't possibly cause his current state. Beside that there's nothing wrong with him except for...," she paused and looked at Harry. "There's absolutely no trace of magic within his body and that is certainly a life threatening situation for a wizard. I've never seen anything like that before, but ... I've read once that this could be a consequence of consummation of the ..."

"_Fortiserum_," Harry finished instead of her, avoiding her eyes.

Horace, who stood beside him gasped for breath and turned to Harry, gaping at him disbelievingly.

"You've … you've made Voldemort drink _the Fortiserum_ … in order to defeat you?"

It slowly began to be too much to Harry. He really needed some sleep, his eyes began to close against his will, but he also wanted to know if Ron was getting any better and where Hermione was, he wanted Voldemort to get well too and he really wanted everyone to stop thinking that he was the one who had a duel with Riddle.

"No, Professor," he said tiredly. "Not because of me. It's too long story to tell now. The question is … do you have the antidote?"

Harry felt that everyone stared at him again, but his eyes were glued only to Horace's face.

"Eh … you know … boy…," the old wizard began. "I cannot possibly store the Forbidden potions. You know the rules," he muttered, fidgeting.

"But Professor, I'm not asking for _the Fortiserum _itself! I need the antidote, which is not forbidden, is it?" Harry raised his tone a little.

Slughorn glanced briefly at McGonagall who looked more stern than usual.

"My dear boy," he mumbled. "Such an experienced potion maker like you must surely know that the antidotes for the Forbidden potions are prepared directly _from_ the Forbidden potions. Also, they cannot be stored for a longer period than three days, so … usually they are stored _in _the form of the Forbidden potions... There are exceptions of course, but that's not the case of _the Fortiserum_, I'm afraid."

Harry of course didn't know that. It made him as breathless as if he just fell from the broom during the Quidditch match.

"Besides, all of this clearly belongs to the scope of Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Why won't we inform the Aurors who we've captured so they can come here and deal with _him_? Also, if it is interrogation that you're after, Potter, then I assure you _he_ _can_ be awaken even in this state. There's really no need for me to hurry to the basement and prepare the antidote," Horace continued, becoming more and more calculating.

"But Professor," Harry said quietly and slowly turned to him again. "Didn't you just tell me that you have no _Fortiserum_ in your repository?"

Slughorn, suddenly aware of his mistake, slightly paled and looked at the Headmistress who crossed her arms, watching him expectantly.

"Oh … eh … well … you know … just a tiniest little flask … merely for scientific reasons of course!"

"Let's make an experiment then," Harry said in the same quiet, persuasive voice, his eyes not leaving the old man.

"Please, Professor. I really need that antidote _now. _Can you do that for me?"

"But...," Slughorn opened his mouth only to be interrupted by the young wizard again.

"I don't want to interrogate Voldemort. I need him alive. And the Ministry must stay out of this."

"Potter … but why?" It was Professor Flitwick who asked that, yet Harry could see the same question in the eyes of everyone else.

He inhaled deeply to keep his voice steady. It stung his lungs.

"I promise I'll explain everything later, but for now … _please_ just trust me."

Harry's statement was followed by a grave silence, which was ultimately broken by Professor Slughorn's gruff voice.

"Well, Potter … let me tell you something. Even if I was willing to make that antidote, it would not help him in his current state. It's too late."

Harry's head turned to him so fast that something cracked in his spine.

"What d' you mean?" he asked and his voice lapsed.

Horace nervously glanced at Minerva, then smoothed his maroon dressing gown and cleared his throat.

"Err … Basically, the antidote seals the remaining magic within the body cells which helps the exposed person to survive until the effects of _Fortiserum _fade away. _He,_ however, already crossed the - let's say - 'point of no return'. As Madam Pomfrey said, there is no magic left to be sealed within _his_ body cells. The antidote cannot work then."

Harry's breathing stopped completely. He staggered backward, ignorant of their confused stares.

"But … it means...," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he slowly turned to Voldemort and came over to him, his steps heavy, unsteady.

_The antidote won't work..._

"No," he muttered, biting his hurting lips again and again. "We're finished … I … I … can't..." His fingers desperately clutched at the silky black robes.

He couldn't get another word through his painfully constricted throat.

"Potter?"

The Headmistress rarely showed any disturbance, but she did right now.

"What is it? What exactly are you talking about?"

But Harry couldn't talk over the huge lump in his throat.

_It was over._

He couldn't look at anyone but Riddle. He remembered him saying: '_Besides, it's too late..._'

He didn't pay it any attention then … but now...

Ron, Hermione, Arthur … all of them would be dead already if Riddle didn't come to burn Negura to ashes.

The Dark Lord failed to kill that vampire, but he still unwillingly saved their lives and whatever hatred Harry felt towards him before, it suddenly didn't matter … or not so much. What happened tonight only fueled his _weird, abnormal_ feelings which he abhorred less and less… and now everything should be over?

First Angelina, then Sheena and now … Volde … _Tom_?

_Why?_

His mind drowned in deep grief and therefore he barely processed what was happening around him. He heard some new voices, someone was asking after Ron and Arthur. Reluctantly, he forced himself to pay attention.

"Why did you say we're finished, Harry?"

Harry looked up after hearing that familiar deep and slow voice. The previous Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt stood beside McGonagall, glancing between him and Voldemort while squeezing his wand tightly.

"Hermione didn't have time to explain everything," he added when he didn't get immediate response.

But Harry couldn't just answer him. The best he could do was to force another groan form his throat.

"Luckily, I have a time now," said a slightly breathless woman's voice instead of him.

Harry sucked in the breath and turned around. He heard it correctly. It was indeed Hermione together with Neville, Fred, Luna and the others. They all seemed to be all right, which was clearly the first and also the last of today's good news.

Everyone looked at her, copying Harry's sudden movement, growing tense in expectation. Harry didn't know, couldn't even guess, what she was going to say. She witnessed too much after all. Just what _exactly_ she thought about him after seeing that … incident with Riddle? He would have been really worried if it still mattered to him. But since Voldemort was going to die anyway, he could hardly care about it for any longer. Nothing could possibly make it any worse.

"Harry's talking about Dragomir Negura, the Leader in Umbridge's service, the master of falsehood," she said. "He's actually an extremely powerful vampire, who's capable of using a wand and hence pretending to be a wizard. All Harry meant is that if this vampire - who already killed hundreds, maybe thousands of people - loses the only opponent who's potentially able to stop him, then we are all finished. By the way, it was Negura who broke into the Order's base, attacking everyone without another reason beside a blood lust."

The tension in the air grew exponentially. Every member of the Order who didn't witness that incident stilled, staring at her in shock and disbelief.

"That's why You-Know-Who should not die," she continued with an even voice. "If he dies, we all will be at the mercy of a vampire, who even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could not defeat."

It was hard to describe how grateful Harry was for what she said. But it was just one part of him. His other half was still drowning in despair.

"But it's too late," he finally whispered quietly. "Voldemort's beyond any help."

"Not necessarily...," Madam Pomfrey began, but Professor McGonagall raised her voice to suppress the growing murmur, which was basically made of quiet exclamations as everyone wanted to take a view of Voldemort on the sick-bed and discuss what Hermione just said.

"Hold on a moment! If I understand this correctly, you're trying to say that we should help You-Know-Who to_ fight against the Ministry_? And even if you're correct Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger," the Headmistress said darkly, "even if Negura – or whatever is his name – is who you suspect to be, why should we help You-Know-Who to defeat him? Wouldn't it be better to let You-Know-Who die and fight only against one evil wizard – or vampire? Imagine them join their forces together against us...!"

"Professor," Harry responded immediately as he fully recovered his lost voice, "with all respect, if I remember correctly, I have been given a chance by the prophecy to defeat _Voldemort_, not _Negura_. And if that vampire managed to beat Voldemort so much," Harry continued loudly, pointing at Riddle's unmoving body, "then he's probably even greater than Dumbledore was. What chance do we have to stand against someone like that alone? By the way, you don't have to worry about Riddle joining him. I'm certain that something like that would happen only over Voldemort's dead body." Harry finished and his eyes jumped back to Madam Pomfrey in desperation to hear the end of her unfinished sentence.

"Also, I don't understand why we are even discussing this when there is no chance," he added in a quieter tone, hoping to bring back the topic.

"There is a small chance," Madam Pomfrey opposed. "I think Mr. Potter is right about one thing. We should first try to save that … that … _him _and discuss the possibilities later. So, now I must ask everyone who's got no business in here to leave instantly, because this is a hospital wing, not a Great Hall or a classroom!"

Then she turned to McGonagall, speaking in a softer voice.

"We can … probably save _him_, but only with your agreement, Minerva," she said.

The three seconds before she eventually nodded did very weird things to Harry's heart.

But she ultimately agreed and the youngster could finally exhale the breath he didn't know he was holding inside.

Reluctantly, the other members of the Order began to back off until only the previous group of five people and one patient stayed in the room, except for...

"Ms. Granger!" Madam Pomfrey called after her. "You may stay here as well. I've seen how capable you're at healing at the end of that horrible battle three years ago. I will need a spare hand which I can count on."

Harry watched them, slowly retreating to join the rest of the Order. The first flicker of hope flared back to life inside his chest and he let it fill him, relishing in its light after those disastrous minutes of total desperation. He was not needed here anymore, but the important thing was that the Dark Lord, the man he used to hate more than anyone else, maybe still have a chance to survive.

"Horace, please go prepare the antidote quickly. Filius, Minerva, I still need you to keep an eye on _him_ … for all cases. Mr. Potter … where are you going?"

Harry halted, looked at Professor Slughorn who passed him in haste and then back at the nurse, confused.

Madam Pomfrey needed him? Why?

Hesitantly, he returned to Voldemort's bedside.

"Yes, Ma'am?" he asked.

"Well, as it was you who insisted on saving him, you might as well do it."

"I … _what_?" Harry's eyes grew wide. "I … I know practically nothing about healing, I have no idea what to do in such a complicated case and..."

Madam Pomfrey stopped his tirade by raising her hand.

"I'm very well aware of that. You will only supply him with a small amount of your magic which will be sealed by the antidote inside his body cells, keeping him alive until the effects of Fortiserum subsides. If he survives the transfer and a recuperation period, then his body will start producing his own magic again. The only question is, are you willing to do that, Mr. Potter?"

She looked at him, half expecting to see him refuse.

But Harry nodded, even though deep inside he was totally unnerved.

"I guess I can do that… Is it by any means dangerous?" he asked, although the only thing he really wanted to know was what exactly he should expect from the procedure.

Madam Pomfrey glanced at him, keeping her face stiff.

"Magic-sharing is quite a common thing in healing. It shouldn't be dangerous if you do exactly what I'll tell you. And if you're afraid that you might transfer some of your _special powers _into him by chance …," she paused dramatically, "...then you don't have to. It doesn't work like that, your magic won't reside in his body permanently."

"Okay," Harry said after a while and nodded slowly. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Touch his skin."

"Right … eh … what?"

"Touch his skin, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey repeated, probably taking a little satisfaction in his hesitation.

"Eh … where?" Harry asked, gazing down at the pale, unmoving face and then back up at the nurse. He noticed that Hermione smirked briefly and tried to hide it right away. Harry failed to see what could possibly amuse her. Girls acted very strangely sometimes.

She obviously noticed his discomfort and leaned to him, whispering quietly.

"Wherever you want Harry."

Harry looked at her again, this time glowering a little.

"Fine," he snapped and moved over so he stood at the bedhead. Then he pressed his palms against Voldemort's cold, slightly sunken temples.

"Is it all right like this?"

"Yes," Madam Pomfrey replied curtly and raised her wand above Riddle's chest. "When I say let go, you will remove your hands from _that_ ... his face, is that clear, Mr. Potter?"

"Absolutely," Harry confirmed.

"Very well, now you Ms. Granger. When Professor Slughorn brings the antidote, you will make You-Know-Who drink it. Don't forget to make him swallow it, even if he wakes and protests. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Hermione replied calmly, though she paled a little.

"Good, let's begin."

Now Harry was tremendously anxious, wondering what the hell he had agreed to. He wanted to help Voldemort and he even stopped asking himself why, but that magic-sharing sounded … well, much too personal for Harry's taste. He really hoped it won't force him to share anything too private with Riddle, because there were certain things he didn't want Voldemort to know. Though, as there was no other choice he had to suffer through it no matter what.

To distract himself he turned to watch Madam Pomfrey mutter some incantations, dreading the moment when he starts to _feel something_.

But he didn't.

Was it all right?

Probably not, considering Madam Pomfrey's gloomy expression.

"Mr. Potter, you must stop resisting it," she said firmly. "Otherwise it's not going to work."

"I'm not doing anything!" Harry protested immediately.

"You're sealing your magic inside," she repeated. "You don't want to share it with him, which is of course understandable, but..."

"I'm not doing anything!" Harry yelled in frustration. "How am I supposed to stop 'sealing' it?-!"

He looked down at the empty, unmoving face, suddenly horrified that Voldemort won't survive because of another of his failures. He despised himself for that although he knew deep inside that he deserved to fail. He wasn't improving in anything. After Ginny's death he only drank, sobered, complained about everything and drank again. They didn't kick him out of the Auror's training because of Kingsley, who was his friend and also the Minister for Magic. But that episode of his life was over and now he desperately wanted to improve and catch up with everything he neglected.

And he needed to save Riddle because that invisible fist around his heart would crush it if he couldn't accomplish that...

"You must _want to_ share it," Madam Pomfrey said firmly, while Harry still gazed at the smooth, pale face, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of it.

"I must want to...," he repeated and gulped idly. "I _want to_..."

A soft mist slowly clouded his mind.

_Save him._

His fingers began to burn. Then his whole hands. Every square inch of his skin which touched the Dark Lord's was scorching.

It was too much, it almost hurt him. He had to grit his teeth to bear with it. He felt Voldemort's facial muscles tense under his burning palms. The tension went downwards, contracting muscles on Riddle neck, then arms, trunk and finally his long legs, which involuntarily jerked.

"That's better. It will be enough soon," Madam Pomfrey said, but Harry barely listened to her as he was too engrossed in that experience.

It surely wasn't supposed to feel the way he felt it because there was nothing really intimate about it. He was only aware of some force moving out of him and spilling into the body below. However, that single thought made Harry blush like a teenager who just woke up form his first wet dream. He fought that flush in his face with all his might, focusing on the discomfort in his hands rather than his stupid thoughts. When the burn in his palms became too unpleasant, he had to find something else to pay attention to and so he watched the snake-like slits of Voldemort's nose move quickly as the man breathed faster.

It didn't really help him to relax; quite the opposite. Harry felt like he might catch fire any moment. He couldn't tear his eyes off that face, he was completely attached to that skin, those thin, white, barely visible lips, those closed red eyes he needed … he needed to see them open... He must see them open...

"POTTER!"

Someone screamed into his ear and tore him away from Riddle, but Harry didn't mind, because he saw them … he saw their sanguine color...

That brief look of surprise and discomfort etched deep inside them...

Harry staggered backwards, his legs felt weak, and he could hardly breathe, his lungs and hands burned horribly.

"I … I...," he muttered and turned to see McGonagall support him, but not looking at him and then Madam Pomfrey by the corner of the eye.

"What was that, Potter?-! Why didn't you listen to me when I told you...?-!"

"I'm all right … I'm fine ... I just think I need to sit down for a moment," Harry said in a surprisingly confident, composed voice.

He disentangled himself from the Headmistress's grip, straightened his back, readied himself to say something more … and fainted.

**_R&R_**


	2. Back to school, part 2

**Author's note:** Hello, I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, especially after getting such a positive response on the first chapter. Thank you very much for all your comments, they were very supportive.

In the previous author's note I warned you about some mature content which may appear in this story. I feel obliged to repeat this warning. Those of you who don't like slash in any form, please find another story to read.

Rating of this chapter: T/M

Special thanks to my beta **TheSecretUchiha **

xxxxx

**Back to school, part 2**

xxxxx

_26__th__ December 2000, early in the morning_

_Ministry of Magic_

There couldn't possibly be a worse fear than the fear of an inevitable, quickly approaching death.

Draco Malfoy learned this four years ago when Voldemort ordered him to kill Dumbledore and then threatened him whenever he failed with this task. Now, he was facing it again. And to his true horror, no one could save him this time.

He knew was going to be killed.

He knew he couldn't avoid it.

The way he was going to die was however unclear until the very last moment.

He lived in a false hope that the Death Eaters would kill him the moment he appeared with Negura at the doorstep of Voldemort's hideout. The Killing Curse would be a painless, almost pleasant way to leave this world compared to other options.

But whoever was on the patrol in the Dark Lord's base, they were doing a miserable job. Draco didn't even see anyone protecting the house. Negura had plenty of time to stun him, hale him off under some shelter and then burned the place to its foundations.

The freak returned to him in several minutes, mad as he had never seen him before, and Apparated them back at the Ministry. Draco didn't know what happened to the Leader; he could only hope that it was Potter thwarting his devious plans. It was the only satisfaction he could think of before he died and therefore he cherished it as a little treasure.

Now, when he was being dragged over the large hall towards the section inhabited by Negura's closest servants, he could only think that he didn't want to die so young. But that freak was apparently hungry. His desire for human blood was giving his smooth face inhuman, frightening features. It was the expression in that face what was telling Draco that his days were numbered. He was going to become one of them; a murdering monster obsessed with blood. Humiliating or not, he really wanted to cry like a baby.

"Please don't," he choked out when Negura pushed him into a darkened, empty room at the very end of the corridor.

The vampire closed the door behind them, waiting there with his hand resting on the handle. He didn't look at Draco, he kept his eyes pointed aside, his facial muscles tightening and relaxing repeatedly.

"Please, let me live," Draco begged, his knees buckling in fear.

Negura's fingers on the handle slackened. They glided over its cool surface slowly, before leaving it for good.

"I didn't bring you here to feed from you, Draco," he finally said in a quiet tone. The relief that Draco felt was incredible, but it was quickly spoiled by the next sentence Negura spoke.

"Though I must admit it's a very tempting thought."

Draco shivered as he saw his cruel smile which revealed his pointy canines.

"But I won't hurt you, because you're actually the only one who cooperated with me tonight according to my wishes," he said, coming closer to the young man, who had to force himself to hold his position.

"Most of the events tonight did not develop in the way I wanted them. Voldemort and Potter both survived, which certainly complicates things. Potter still has a huge influence on Aurors, some of them still admire him. I wanted him dead, before he could use this influence against me. Now it seems that I must do it differently, I must discredit him. Which will take some time, I'm afraid. Until then, I must convince them of my own trustworthiness. Therefore, I have no choice but to treat you as a criminal, my dear godson," he whispered softly, though his voice was a little raspy from his thirst. "No need to be afraid, just give me your wand, boy."

Which was the last thing Draco wanted to forgo.

Without it he would be completely defenseless. He would be a walking dinner for every hungry vampire around him.

"Don't worry, Draco. Nestor, who should be here within a minute, will protect you," he whispered.

The young man felt even worse after hearing that. Nestor Desalmado was just another blood-sucking freak after all.

"Your wand, Draco," the Leader repeated softly, though deep under that falsely sweet tone laid a hidden threat.

He looked down at the extended hand. Any resistance was futile. How could he even consider fighting him when Voldemort failed to defeat him? He couldn't do anything at all, so it didn't really matter if he gave up his only weapon or not. And so he handed it over and once he did, his hand immediately felt crippled and weak. He flexed his fingers to chase that feeling away.

A soft knock on the door made his back stiffen in fear. The door opened a second later and the two men entered, bowing before the Leader. Draco recognized Desalmado right away. His perfect suit, elegant walk and handsome face with sly smile were difficult to disregard.

His eyes then turned to the other man, surveying him quickly. If someone could say that Desalmado was attractive, then his companion looked entirely repulsive. Threatening. Dangerous.

"Nestor, Brutus, I'm glad you've came along. I'm in a rush and I need you to take care of several things."

"Nestor, you will watch over Draco for few next hours."

The boyish vampire slightly bend his back again, though it was obvious he wasn't thrilled that he was ordered to be a babysitter again.

"Yes, my Leader … excuse my impudence, but hopefully I didn't offend you or disappoint in some way. Because I have to wonder why you insist on giving me such tasks when I'm..."

"You've failed me, Nestor," the Leader hissed, making the vampire take a step backward.

"You didn't guard Lucius well. He's dead now and it's only your fault! You are irresponsible and obsessed with your appearance instead of your assignments!"

"My deepest apologies, Leader," Nestor whispered and bowed his head. "I didn't occur to me that Lucius wanted to flee." He paused momentarily, thinking. "When it was mentioned...," he hesitated, "I must say that I also haven't seen Leontina for some time. Maybe she's trying to do something crazy to attract your attention again. Shouldn't I go find her first?"

The Leader's face changed in a split of second. It grew cold, empty.

"She did attract my attention, indeed." The cold fury in his voice showed Draco how much he was affected by her loss. "She's dead too, Nestor. Voldemort killed them both," finished, baring his teeth viciously as he probably imagined taking revenge on the Dark Lord.

Draco also noticed how much it shocked Nestor. His chin slackened and he took two more unwilling steps backward. Oddly, the dangerous looking man by his side, Brutus, showed no reaction whatsoever.

"Dragomir," Nestor whispered. "I … I'm sorry … if I knew, I would never..."

"_Don't _say another word, Nestor! And from now on take better care of your duties," the Leader retorted and turned to look at the scarred man by Nestor's right hand.

"Brutus. I need a new army. Prepare a list of potential candidates. Twenty newborns over a night at most. When you're done, bring it to me. You'll find me in the Minister's office," he said shortly, his voice no longer showed any emotion. No regret for the lives that would be lost to fulfill his revenge.

He didn't care about them.

Humans were just meat for him, worthless creatures which he was going to use for his selfish purposes.

And though Draco should be happy that he survived this night against all odds, this realization almost made him wish he didn't.

xxxxx

_Hogwarts, later that day_

Everything around Harry was dark and peaceful.

The quiet… the serenity. The pure bliss of being relieved of all anguish, mental and physical, and simply existing in that endless void.

And then ...

"Just as I thought! You – BOY! Get up you lousy freak and go help your aunt!" A strong pair of hands pulled at Harry's hair and he could only scream in pain as those hands turned him around so he could see his uncle's furious, deep purple face.

"I do not nourish you for nothing, you little moocher! Useless, disgusting prat! Why couldn't you turn up your toes together with your worthless parents?-!" The hands slammed the back of his head into a brick wall which appeared out of nowhere behind him and held him there while the aggressor continued to spit insults at him.

Harry cried out in fury and pain. He didn't have to tolerate this beating anymore! Why should he let his uncle treat him like that? He squirmed out of the older man's grasp, ready to knock the assailant off - and froze.

"And I hereby expel Harry James Potter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, effective immediately," said a sly, sweet woman's voice. Umbridge who mysteriously replaced his uncle contentedly rubbed her fleshy hands, a malicious grin distorting her toad-like face.

"No … no … please, you can't!" Harry whispered, panic gripping him instantly.

"Oh, but of course I can. I can do whatever I want. No one can stop me...," whispered a soft melodic voice with a barely noticeable foreign accent into his ear. Harry's whole body stiffened again as those horrible navy eyes glided his field of vision.

"You smell so good Harry… let me taste," Negura whispered hungrily, pressing his perfect, frosty lips onto his vulnerable neck.

"NOOO!" Harry yelled and writhed, struggling against the tall vampire, trying to push him away. He miraculously managed to do that, keeping him at his arm's length, having firmly shut his eyes to avoid that persuasive stare.

"Is there something you are scared of, Potter?" said a different, high and cold mocking voice.

"Look at me."

The younger wizard opened his eyes hesitantly, looking up from the robes he still clutched to the searing eyes of the Dark Lord.

Those crimson irises scorched his insides and chased away his previous terror, while bringing in different fears and emotions.

"You know you're mine … only mine," he spoke ever so softly as if to a child.

And Harry's heart responded to it.

Some unpredictable force took away all his self-control, baring his needs one by one.

Making him ruthlessly realize things he foolishly denied.

He wasn't even ashamed that he gave in so easily, sinking into the embrace without any protests, hesitation or resistance.

"Harry … at last..."

The warmth breath touched his face and he looked up, seeing those inhuman eyes gleam in the darkness, the smirk disappeared from those white, practically nonexistent lips. The cool, smooth hand with long slim fingers touched his cheek; rubbing small circles into his skin, before moving to caress the back of his neck and run down his spine. Harry felt a strong tremor in his muscles following the gliding movement of that hand; the whole process was driving him crazy. And yet his eyes were hypnotized by the lips which were inches from his own; he saw the tip of that agile tongue moisten the corner of the pale mouth distractedly as the cool palm on his waist itched to move a little lower. That simple action brought the youngster nearly to breaking point. They were so close that he could see the sinews move under that flimsy skin, the rush of blood in those tiny bluish capillaries. But what he saw wasn't important for any longer. The only thing which mattered at the moment was the fire in his own veins and the only action that could extinguish it.

He grabbed the back of the man's neck in a rush of desire, brought him closer and took full possession of the cold mouth, prying his lips open, licking and touching everything within that pleasantly warm cavern, searching for that wicked tongue and stroking it madly once it encountered his own. As the heat exploded within his body, he pressed his weight into the other man, grinding against him in order to relieve his pent-up frustration. And just when the things started to be really interesting...

"_Harry!"_

That loud, desperate call which resonated in his head shattered the whole scene to pieces, leaving him lost in a world of blurred colours. He rolled over on a hard, uncomfortable pad and instinctively groped for his glasses. He found them lying on something what could be a bedside table and clumsily put them on, blinking thesleep from his eyes. The blur was finally gone and Harry found himself staring up at the darkened, ribbed vault of an archaic ceiling above him. The blood still rushed madly through his veins, making him itchy. He moaned quietly and glanced sideways, noticing another sick-bed standing in front of a tall, narrow window.

He was in the hospital wing, he realized as he searched for the person who woke him. Strangely, he couldn't see anyone.

Which was a good thing because he was breathless, shocked and confused.

His body was still tense and bothered, longing for release. A muffled groan escaped his lips and he quickly covered them with his hand. He closed his eyes tightly, but the vivid images of that freaky dream refused to go away. The more he tried to chase them away, the more they popped back, teasing his awakened libido. His muscles tensed and he subconsciously raised his hips to get more friction from the heavy blanket wrapped around his body.

"Ohhh … damn," he moaned into his hand, keeping his eyes firmly closed.

Sweat plastered his untidy black hair to his skin, irritating him to the point that he had to wipe it away from his neck and forehead. The desire to touch himself was overwhelming. His other hand, the one which didn't kept his mouth closed, grasped the bed cloth and tugged at it in a desperate act to avoid a contact with his groin. _Just one softest touch separated him from..._

"No...," he choked and bit into his palm hard. "No, I'm … not…!"

_Just one gentle stroke..._

"No … I eh 'm not … a queer!"

Harry furiously shook his head, grazing his teeth against the skin of his hand.

And then he saw it again; those soft, pale lips gliding over his, those cold fingers touching him … _there_.

At that point his hand slipped out of his control and squeezed the front of his pyjama trousers together with his heated privates, tugging mercilessly and he was coming right then, biting into the base of his thumb with a great force, for he was still trying to keep quiet.

It felt so good, the rush of ecstasy filling his body with the most glorious feelings he could afford himself, keeping him high and intoxicated for two or three perfect seconds, before his muscles finally relaxed and his body found the longed-for relief.

His limbs could be easily made of wax now when they slackened into a completely stagnant phase. Or his whole body, when he considered it.

As his heartbeat began to slow down, and his brain re-obtained the ability to think, everything finally dawned on him. He knew he should freak out right now, because what he had dreamed of crossed every possible definition of normality which he could think of. So it was beyond his understanding why didn't he feel the slightest need to wallow in self-disgust. He was partially repulsed, true, but also oddly satisfied. In principle, he couldn't even say whether the dream left him more enthralled or horrified.

Harry finally opened his eyes and let the hand on his mouth fall back onto the pillow.

"I can't believe this," he breathed out, while gazing at the old ceiling.

"Am I really … such a pervert? And why for_ him_ of all the people? If I'm lucky, this is just a consequence of some curse or something," he whispered hopefully.

"It could also explain why are my memories so … chaotic, confusing...," he continued in his quiet talk to the silent room.

He slowly sat up, looking at his palms, which were reddish and slightly burning, though not only from the previous biting.

"What am I doing in Hogwarts? Why am I in the hospital wing?"

He sat in silence for a minute, watching the dark room motionlessly before looking out of the window at the outlines of the landscape.

"Where's everyone?" he whispered to himself. The door to the adjacent room suddenly creaked open as if to answer him and Harry turned his head in that direction, listening intently to a low murmur coming from there. Growing curious, he rather carelessly got up and nearly toppled over. His body was stiff as if he didn't walk for days. Fortunately, he regained the balance soon enough and quietly approached a long white curtain behind which he heard the quiet sounds.

It was his friends, he realized as he peeped in. Ron and Hermione were standing close to each other, intent on some quiet argument. He wanted to step in and tell them that he was there, when the door opened again and Madam Pomfrey entered, looking greatly displeased.

"What are you two doing here? I clearly said no visitors over night."

Ron jumped in surprise; he probably did not expect the nurse's sudden arrival.

"We just...," he began and lost inspiration what to say right away. "Came to say good-night to Harry," Hermione finished instead of him, smiling constrainedly.

Madam Pomfrey didn't look mollified.

"Is it true that he should wake within few hours? Because we really need to talk to him...," Ron continued before Hermione could stop him.

"It is true, however he _needs_ to rest, which means no discussions, no planning some crazy adventures of yours and certainly no _undertaking_ those crazy adventures of yours!" Madam Pomfrey said strictly.

"Um … certainly," Ron nodded, while Hermione kept her fake, forceful smile. It was the moment when Harry decided to step in too.

He came out of the shadow and said.

"Don't worry, I don't feel up to any crazy adventure right now."

He saw how Hermione's eyes instantly grew wide and in the next second she was by his side, grasping his hand firmly.

"Harry! You're awake! How do you feel?-!" she asked breathlessly, surprising him slightly by her strong reaction. He didn't understand her apparent worries.

"Er … fine?" he said though it sounded more like a question.

"If you excuse me, Ms. Granger," Madam Pomfrey ordered her away and Hermione stepped aside to make room for her. The nurse took hold of Harry's forearm, leading him towards the nearest chair.

"You should sit down, Mr. Potter," she instructed him and pressed him down into the seat.

"I'm really fine," Harry protested as she pulled out the wand and began the examination.

"No, Mr. Potter," she said scathingly. "You might feel better but you surely aren't _fine_. You could have died fifteen hours ago because someone used a lung-lacerating spell on you and _you didn't even bother to inform me!_ Lucky for you that the damage wasn't too extensive and could be healed within a few hours. Still, I would never allow you to share your magic with … _that freak,_ if I knew about your condition."

"Just keep in mind...," she said firmly and finally lowered her wand, "...that you shouldn't count on my assistance next time you'll decide to save some nasty murderer!"

"I - I'm afraid I really don't know what you're talking about," Harry said in confusion.

"You don't remember anything?" Ron quickly asked and rushed to his side.

"You don't remember about the attack?" Hermione joined him and knelt by Harry's other side.

Harry looked at them, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I'm not sure...," he muttered.

Damn, if only it wasn't so perplexing. The only thing he recalled for sure were some lights, wind and a horrible noise, but none of it made any sense. The faces … the names, it was all mixed together.

"Harry, try to remember. It's very important," Hermione implored and he did as she said.

"Mr. Potter should eat something first and then take some rest. He will remember once he's recovered enough," the nurse announced.

"Vampires...," Harry said after a moment as the mist clouding his mind cleared a little. He could feel that the more he focused his mind on his memories the more they became. "And their leader … Negura … he broke into the Grimmauld Place 12 … he wanted to kill us," he said haltingly. "We've tried to stop him, but we failed and then … Voldemort … he fought him … and then I brought him here."

Coming to this conclusion, he looked up resolutely.

"It's Voldemort Madam Pomfrey was talking about, isn't it?" he asked calmly, making the nurse flinch every time he said that name. Then he looked at Ron and smiled.

"Good to see you're all right, mate," he said, feeling warm inside that his friend was by his side, talking to him again.

"Yeah," his ginger youngster nodded, "my right leg still hurts a little, but otherwise I'm okay. Thanks to you."

Ron suddenly grew very sheepish and bore his eyes into the floor.

"I need to apologize for those horrible things I said to you back there. You're not a traitor, Harry, it was insane to doubt you. I don't know what possessed me. You've saved us … you've saved Hermione. I saw how you stabbed that vampire – it was amazing, really..."

"That's why I often tell you to think twice before opening your mouth, Ron," Hermione scolded him, but smiled, happy that Ron and Harry were getting along again.

Harry kept the joyous expression off his face, but deep inside he beamed with happiness too.

"Yeah, I might have stabbed Negura's heart, but it only pissed him off," he said matter-of-factly. "Seriously, if Voldemort didn't come to help us we all would be little zombies right now, desiring to suck the blood out of every breathing human."

"Harry … I seriously don't think that You-Know-Who...," Ron began hesitantly, but Harry's mind was already far ahead.

"Riddle survived it, right? I think I should pay him a visit..." Then the images from that dream appeared once again before his eyes, making him flush and cooling down his enthusiasm.

"Or … maybe it wouldn't be the best idea..."

At that moment Madam Pomfrey squeezed herself in between his friends and handed him some potion.

"Drink that, Mr. Potter. I have a distinct feeling that you won't stay here overnight," she said with resignation in her voice. "I can't hold you back as you're an adult now, fully capable to make decisions on your own. But don't complain if you'll suffer any health complications later."

"We'll make sure he won't overexert himself," Hermione promised, but Madam Pomfrey just sighed and left them alone.

"She's mad at me," Harry muttered and took a sip of the odourless, bitter liquid.

"Don't be so surprised," Hermione said quietly. "She was really furious when she found out about your injuries."

"I guess she had a reason then," Harry sighed and watched Ron unpack a large knapsack he didn't notice before.

"We brought you some clothes so you don't have to go to the Great Hall in pyjamas," Ron smirked and pulled out Harry's favourite shirt and jeans.

"Perfect!" Harry said happily. He had after all more than one good reason to redress himself. He reached out to take it from Ron when he caught a gleam of a shining, silvery cloth inside the bag. He gasped for breath.

"Is that by any chance father's invisibility cloak? You've managed to save it from the ruins?"

"Ron did," Hermione said, smiling. "He found your trunk on the roof of the neighbouring house. Luckily, its content remained relatively undamaged."

"I wanted to make it up for being a total idiot so I tried really hard to find it," Ron stuttered nervously. "It was still sheer luck. The Summoning Charm didn't work much for some reason. It cost us a lot of effort to find anything and put it together. Still, most of the things are destroyed for good I'm afraid. Anyway, we only wanted to use your cloak to sneak in here because Madam Pomfrey wouldn't allow us to visit you."

"I see. It's amazing that you found it though, thanks," Harry smiled at him. "You've definitely made it up to me, Ron."

His friend's face instantly beamed up and he straightened his back as if some heavy burden was lifted off his shoulders.

"Right. We should go get something to eat now," he suggested. "We haven't eaten yet, because Hermione thought it would be better to come here while Madam Pomfrey was down in the Great Hall. And now I'm starving like a troll during winter dormancy." Ron's stomach gave a huge rumble to confirm his words.

"So am I," Harry agreed. "Just give me few more minutes, I'll be right back."

A little later Harry was done in the bathroom and, together with Ron and Hermione, was approaching the Great Hall.

In the meantime he was already told that Ron's father was all right too, that Kingsley wanted to talk to him later and that the Order provisionally moved the salvage from Grimmauld Place to Hogwarts before the location of their new base would be decided. Ron further informed him that the members of the Order were, despite the great risk, still mostly out, trying to track the vampires to confirm Harry and Hermione's theory about Negura and also create a new stockpile of necessities for the Order as they lost practically everything.

Basically, Harry was sure that he knew about every little thing which happened during his recovery except of the most vital and urgent subject, which wasn't mentioned yet. Oddly, it seemed to him that Ron didn't want to let him speak as if he was afraid Harry might start to ask questions about _him_. Which was unsettling, but Harry refused to break into Ron's monologue, he knew that his friend will run out of words sooner of later and he would ask those unpleasant questions then.

It didn't even crossed to his mind that they were walking towards the Great Hall. He realized it only when he saw its doors from the distance and the consistency of his thoughts instantly scattered.

He couldn't just enter that tremendous room, for it was also the source of his worst nightmares. It was the place where dozens of his friends died, together with his love, Ginny.

The sudden horror of it made him halt.

Ron and Hermione soon realized that he wasn't coming along and turned to him, looking troubled as they noticed his expression.

"I don't think I can go inside … just like that," Harry said quietly, feeling slightly nauseous.

Hermione instantly knew what was going on.

"You don't have to, Harry," she said quickly. "We can go somewhere else. Maybe to the kitchen; I'm sure Kreacher wouldn't mind preparing something for us."

Harry shook his head. He felt like he was giving up again, hiding before his haunting past, refusing to face his fears. Reverting into the coward he was for past three years.

He didn't want to be like that anymore.

He couldn't be tortured by it forever.

"No," he said lowly and made a resolution. "I can deal with that."

"Great, let's go then," Ron said quietly and stepped inside the Hall, followed by Hermione and finally by Harry.

He could hardly breathe through his constricted throat, his legs felt like they were made of lead, his back tensed as if he expected the ceiling come crashing down on his head any second, but it didn't. Harry kept his eyes nearly closed for the first few seconds until he found the courage to open them and he was taken aback. It didn't look anything like he remembered it from the last time.

The Great Hall was spectacular, rebuilt to its previous glory. In addition to the usual interior, there were a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees, thick streamers of holly and mistletoe adorned the ceiling and enchanted snow was falling down at them from the ceiling. Everything was just like he remembered it from his first year, maybe not so colorful but still very beautiful. Any nightmare which could be associated with this place didn't have a chance anymore. And Harry finally understood that what happened here wasn't a fault of this place, but the circumstances. His chin slightly dropped as the realization weighed heavily on him. He stared ahead at the huge window at the end of the Hall, ignorant of the worried glances exchanged between Ron and Hermione.

"Everything's all right, mate?" Ron asked and his voice sounded strained even over his attempts to keep it under control.

"Yeah," Harry breathed out and slowly nodded. "I feel much better now. Let's get some Christmas pudding."

He set forward to the Gryffindor table, which was just like the others laden with plates of roast chicken, beef, pork and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, buttered peas and carrots. The goblets were overflowing with pumpkin and cranberry juice and the bowls were stuffed with wizard crackers and many other delicious sweets.

"Harry!"

Ron caught Harry's sleeve just before the young man could sit down to the table.

"What? What's going on?" Harry asked slightly irritated, especially when he noticed how peculiar his friend's expression was. What was wrong with them today?

"Well … maybe we should join Luna at the Ravenclaw table," Hermione, who meanwhile caught up with them, suggested hesitantly.

"Fine, but care to tell me why?"

"We … we'll explain it once we are there."

Harry looked back at the table by which he was preparing to take a seat, searching for some reason for their strange behaviour.

And then it occurred to him that the Great Hall was silent.

Everyone was staring at him. _Absolutely_ everyone. If those Christmas trees had eyes, they would be probably staring at him too. Harry was used to being stared at, but not to this extent.

A barely thirteen year old blond girl, standing no farther than five feet from him, gazed at him with such adoration that he was forced to take a hesitant step backward.

"Harry Potter," she sighed his name lovingly and demonstratively fainted, which another three girls took as inspiration. They were all probably hoping that Harry was going to rescue them.

Harry didn't. He was too busy being utterly disturbed.

"Uh … that's the reason. Come on Harry, before they can attack you," Ron whispered and tugged at his sleeve.

He let his friend drag him towards the table where Luna was seated and reading the upside-down magazine as usual.

"What the hell is wrong with them?" Harry hissed through clenched teeth, still feeling dozens pairs of eyes on him.

"Isn't it obvious? You're a superhero again, Harry," Ron informed him quietly. "You've captured You-Know-Who. You've taken his wand. During past six hours I've heard many different stories about how gloriously you defeated him."

"Don't forget that this is Hogwarts," Hermione opted in. "You can't really keep a secret in here. As long as Peeves knows about it then everyone else knows it too."

"Amazing," Harry moaned and collapsed on the hard bench.

"Hello Harry," said a soft, dreamy voice. "You look weary."

"Do I?" Harry retorted sarcastically, meeting Luna's unblinking eyes.

"Oh, sorry Luna. That was unasked for. I just have a feeling I woke from one nightmare to fall into another one."

"You don't like too much attention," Luna said simply and her eyes returned to the Quibbler.

"Yeah, you've got it right."

"Eat Harry," Hermione said and pushed the plate before him. "You'll feel better."

Harry reluctantly brought the dish with roast beef and potatoes closer and jabbed the fork in it. Indeed, the meal tasted delicious, almost good enough to make him forget about his current agitation.

Almost.

"Hello, Harry!"

Someone squeezed his shoulder and he choked at the morsel in his mouth He had to cough the bite out of his neck, before he could finally turn around and see two girls about sixteen, one dark blond and the other brunette, both winking at him meaningfully.

"Er … can I help you?" he asked rather coldly and wondered since when the skirts of Hogwarts' uniforms became so short.

"Yes, you can," they twittered in union, smiling at him seductively.

Harry swore mentally. He didn't mean to ask that question. Now, when he realized what exactly the girls had on their minds, he regretted saying it twice as much. He could only wonder how to get out of this without openly hurting their feelings. What an impossible task.

"Sorry, but Harry's very busy at the moment," Hermione said sweetly and Harry quickly turned back to the table, feeling a rush of gratitude towards her.

"Thanks," he muttered quietly when the girls uttered several venomous comments towards Hermione and finally left.

"Thanks?" Ron hissed, looking incredulously at Hermione and then at Harry. "For what? They weren't so bad looking, Harry. You deserve to have some fun too."

Harry thought he would jump from his skin at that point.

"This is not about how they look like, Ron! They were both too young, don't you think?-! And even if they weren't, would it really be proper to settle a relationship with any of them on a _lie_? I'm _not_ a superhero. I did _not_ defeat Voldemort. And curiously enough, _no one_ here is interested to hear that!"

"Harry has a right to choose his partner according to his own wishes," Luna said dreamily after Harry's furious outburst. Her eyes never left the magazine.

"Right," Harry nodded and Ron only sighed.

"Okay, okay. But you shouldn't be alone like this. Consider..."

"_Harry!"_

"Would you just leave me alone!" Harry cried out aloud and turned around again, expecting to see another admirer.

Only no one was standing behind him. Unnerved, he stared at the empty space for few seconds before he slowly turned back to his friends. He couldn't disregard the alarm in their eyes.

"Er … I just...," he muttered, feeling utterly silly. "I just heard someone call my name."

"Harry," Hermione said quietly. "No one called your name right now."

"Great. I really missed hearing strange voices," he muttered under his breath and stabbed the half-eaten potato on his plate.

"Nargles," Luna explained in a quiet tone. She was the only one who didn't look at him with that particular worried expression. "They live in mistletoe. You can hear them if you listen very carefully."

"Rubbish," Hermione hissed and Ron suggested. "It could be Peeves. Maybe this is his way to try and be funny."

"No, I don't think so," Harry shook his head and took another bite. "It didn't sound like him at all."

He chewed at the morsel slowly, while his brain was trying to decrypt that strange voice. A weird foreboding suddenly possessed his thoughts. He placed the setting on the plate and gulped heavily. It was the right time to start asking questions.

"Where's Voldemort?" he said quietly, while staring at the content of the goblet before him.

When no one answered him within three seconds, he turned his head and looked at Ron.

"Where is he?" he implored, boring his eyes into Ron's left, slightly pink freckled cheek.

"W-why? In dungeons, I guess. I don't know, I didn't feel the urge to pay him a visit," his friend muttered with a constricted voice.

"I want to see him," Harry said resolutely, making everyone around him look at him again.

"Now? When we are having a dinner?" Ron choked out. "What do you want with him, anyway? He's a murderous freak who was obsessed with killing you for twenty years, you know."

"I know, Ron. I still want to see him," he insisted.

"_Harry!"_

He jumped out of the bench. Now he was pretty sure that he could hear that voice only in his head. And he recognized it and it scared him.

"We must tell him, Ron," Hermione suddenly said, looked at her boyfriend and then at Harry, her face strangely apologetic.

"Tell me what?" Harry said, the foreboding growing and spreading inside his chest dramatically.

"Tell me what?-!" Harry repeated as he saw how his friends tried to avoid answering directly.

Hermione finally spoke aloud, though she was atypically unsure of herself.

"I couldn't convince them, Harry, that what happened to us was for real. We have no proof," she said quietly. "All I could do was to make sure that the Order would secretly cooperate with Aurors to investigate what's happening in the Ministry. But the fact is that most members of the Order are convinced that Voldemort bewitched us so we would save his life. That's also why Kingsley wanted to talk to you when you woke up. He wanted to explain you why the Order decided to kill You-Know-Who."

The doom Harry saw coming was even worse than the one he expected.

"So … you mean … that he's … already dead?" His voice sounded flat as if it didn't belong to him anymore and his knees gave out, making him sink back on the bench.

"Not yet," Hermione shook her head briskly. "But the Aurors will come to do it tonight, probably about midnight when the children will be asleep..."

She paused and bit her lip. She looked like she was really sorry for saying such thing aloud. This clearly offended Ron, who resolutely spoke.

"Don't say it as if it was a bad thing, Hermione. It's You-Know-Who we are talking about! If someone deserves this fate, then it's him."

"But … we weren't bewitched," Harry protested loudly as he calmed himself enough to keep his voice even. "Damn … Voldemort didn't even have time to do something like that! This is insane; is it really okay with you to kill him even though he practically saved our lives?-!"

"Harry, I must agree with Ron about this. He didn't come there to save us. He wanted to kill me, remember?" Hermione peeped quietly, making Harry rub his temples distractedly.

"But it doesn't change the fact that we are alive, does it?"

"Apropos," he continued pointedly, "who's going to execute him? Negura himself? Are we supposed to say hi to someone who tried to murder us?-!"

"Harry, I know this is horrible, but the school is directly under the Ministry jurisdiction. This was one of Umbridge's first decrees. The Headmistress has to inform the Ministry about _everything_. Besides, Negura contacted McGonagall first. He already _knew,_" Hermione tried to explain it with unconcealed sorrow in her quiet voice.

"But of course he knew! HE WAS THERE AFTER ALL...!" Harry bellowed in fury.

"Hey … I'm sorry to interrupt you, but shouldn't we go somewhere private? We aren't supposed to talk about this in public," Ron whispered nervously, looking around.

"Let's go then," Harry said firmly and without waiting he strode outside the Great Hall to find the closest classroom. He hurried down the dark corridor, searching for some chamber, any room where they could talk undisturbed. When he found one, he went inside, stopped in the middle and crossed his arms over his chest. Anger boiled inside him and he couldn't stifle it down. How could the Order agree with this? How could they let a vicious vampire who almost murdered them come here? How could they be so blind?

He looked back, seeing Ron and Hermione approaching him, followed by Luna and Neville together with Hannah and Lee. Harry didn't even notice when they joined them.

"Hi, Harry," Neville said quietly. "From what we've heard in the Great Hall, I guess you don't like that Voldemort's going to be killed?"

"Yeah, you're right, Neville. You're welcomed to stay and discuss it," he said, still slightly breathless and his eyes looked up Hermione. He needed someone to answer his questions.

She glanced at him too, then closed the door with a flick of her wand and finally spoke aloud.

"I guess you would first like to hear more about 'the official report' which the Aurors take for granted," she said hesitantly and Harry nodded once.

"Well, basically, almost everyone believes that Draco Malfoy, who I carelessly took inside the Grimmauld Place, somehow allowed V- Voldemort to enter the house and break the Fidelius Charm. The Aurors are also convinced that the vampires came together with him, preventing the rest of the Order from getting inside and helping us. Negura," she grimaced as she said his name, "confirmed that he and several Aurors managed to break through the vampires' barrier, enter the house and hurt V-Voldemort fatally. Then they forced Draco Malfoy to reveal the secret location of You-Know-Who's base and Apparated there to destroy it. According to this _theory_ V-Voldemort didn't die immediately, he used the_ Fortiserum _to enhance his magical abilities, which allowed him to partially heal himself. Then he changed our memories so we would save him from a certain death delivered by Aurors or the members of the Order."

Harry gritted his teeth so hard, that it hurt him.

"That's absurd," he hissed. "How could Draco allow Voldemort the entrance without me being involved? I was the Secret-Keeper of the Grimmauld Place!"

The brief silence was interrupted by Neville who quietly pointed out.

"That's true, but you've been tortured by the Cruciatus Curse, Harry. Madam Pomfrey confirmed it. And there isn't probably a worse curse than the Cruciatus; it either breaks you or destroys you...," he said gravely. "You could have been forced to say it and then he made you forget about it."

Harry wasn't surprised that Neville and the others already knew where he was earlier that night and who he asked for help. It only irritated him that no one believed that he wasn't forced to reveal any information.

"For one last time, Neville, I did not betray the Order!" he said tiredly.

"That's not what I meant," Neville muttered, timid in his response. "I believe in you, Harry. Unquestionably."

Hermione looked at him and then back at Harry.

"We all believe in you Harry. But this is not about our belief. The biggest problem is that Negura has five Aurors, who proclaimed having witnessed the whole operation and are willing to corroborate his statement."

"They are under the Imperius Curse," Harry said coldly.

"You seriously think that Negura is able to keep _five_ Aurors under the Imperius Curse?" Lee asked disbelievingly. "Is that even possible?"

"Of course it is and he certainly did that," Harry quickly replied. "Negura doesn't hesitate to _kill_ anyone who revealed his awful secret. He certainly plans to murder us, meaning me, Hermione, Ron and Arthur. We've seen what he really is, though the rest of the Order seems to have problems believing it. I guess it's because we were fighting an indestructible vampire and Voldemort unintentionally saved us in the end which sounds too crazy to be truth. Therefore, it's easier to proclaim it a lie and execute him without any further inspection," Harry said scathingly, irony seeping from his every word.

The silence returned, heavier than before as everyone contemplated what was said. And Harry considered once again how little time they had left. He didn't know when exactly Voldemort is going to be executed, but he knew for sure that he couldn't let that happen.

"Hermione, you've been there. You've seen it too," he said. "What do you think?"

She pursed her lips nervously and sighed.

"I really don't know. But please, at least try to consider the possibility of having our memories changed. You know that V- Voldemort is an expert in this field. I really tried to find something, anything which could confirm that what we saw was truth, but I can't think of anything at all. Maybe you know about something else. Something what could verify that what we saw really happened that way."

Harry had to admit that her logical approach was necessary in this case.

"Okay, I'll try to think of some … evidence," he agreed. "If I don't find one, then I'll consider what 'the official report' says."

And he began to pace, thinking hard about everything what happened that night. Sheena … his dear friend was the first one he thought of. She would be probably able to confirm whether Voldemort planned to kill them from the beginning or not. If only she survived it … she would be able help them a lot. And he wouldn't be missing her so much already.

But he had to say focused … and Sheena probably couldn't help them anymore. He was also in that house for a short while … but how could that be any helpful ... hang on…

"I think I've got it," he said quietly and stopped his quick pace.

"Got some idea?" Hermione asked almost hopefully.

Harry nodded and turned his thoughts away from the dungeons where Voldemort was imprisoned to his anxious friends. He had to keep in mind that Negura was in contact with the Headmistress, he probably ensnared her and Kingsley in his lies. These people around him might be the only one who he still had a chance to convince about the truth, which the Leader masterly hid while turning Voldemort into the culprit.

"Do you remember how I told you that Negura worked for Voldemort once? How I accidentally found it out when I was snooping in Voldemort's Pensieve? I saw how Negura betrayed him and tried to murder him, which I daresay was one of the worst, most painful and humiliating of Riddle's memories. If Voldemort messed with my mind, I'm one hundred percent certain that he would either remove it completely, or at least change it so I wouldn't remember seeing him in that utterly pitiable state. But I didn't forget any of it. I can still see it clearly before my eyes, which means that he didn't do anything to me!"

They obviously weren't as thrilled as he was about this, but he could see that they considered it.

"Well, this could probably work, if you were willing to show that memory to the Order, Harry," Neville said contemplatively.

Harry shook his head in a dismissive gesture.

"I really don't want to risk that. It would put everyone who saw it into a double grave danger. And you can decide who's worse, whether Negura or Voldemort."

"So we cannot use this as evidence," Hermione said with a serious face. "We have to find something else."

"But..."

"Harry, we need to have something what cannot be discredited."

Harry desperately clenched his fists. He was running out of arguments. And if he failed to convince his friends, Voldemort will be probably executed for the only good deed he ever (unwillingly) did in his entire life.

But what scared him much more was the possibility that the 'official' theory could be the correct one. Who of his friends would believe to his words the way they proclaimed, if they knew that he heard Voldemort in his head few minutes ago? Probably no one. He didn't even understand how was it possible. He was no longer a Horcrux, so how could he hear him? And why exactly did he feel such _need_ to see him?-!

"Considering the probability," Lee said aloud and Harry turned to him, "I think it's more likely You-Know-Who bewitched two twenty years old, then for the Leader to control minds of five trained Aurors, isn't it?"

Harry's heart fell in his chest. It wasn't the development he hoped for.

"There must be a way to find out if our thoughts have been changed or not," he noted.

"There is one, indeed," Hermione nodded. "But it's very difficult and the chances of revealing the truth aren't very high. Only a very skilled wizard or witch can find a difference between the real and altered memory. It's often easier for the afflicted magician to recover the true memories by himself or herself."

"Meaning we are deadlocked. No one can confirm whether your memories have been changed or not. What we are going to do?" Neville asked and Harry for once stayed silent. Not only he didn't know what to do, he didn't even know what to _feel_. The emotions, which were so distinct yesterday night, were now marred by his doubts. His heart could be fooled and Harry was aware of that. And his rational side was desperately resisting the _sickness_ or whatever it was that made him feel weird things and tried to erase Voldemort from his heart. But the little monster in his chest couldn't be stifled so easily.

"I don't know. It would be easier to decide it if we had more witnesses of that incident," he said without thinking. "But you, Ron, " Harry turned to him, "and your father weren't there until the very … end..."

Harry suddenly halted and his eyes grew wide as a sudden idea struck him.

He had found it. He had finally found the irrevocable evidence he was looking for!

"Ron!" he cried out aloud and grasped his friend's shoulders.

"You didn't see Voldemort in the Grimmauld Place yesterday, did you? You were unconscious and your father used Emergency Floo Network to escape with you before the fight between Voldemort and Negura was over, right?"

Ron just nodded slowly, taken aback by Harry's sudden fervor.

"But you remember seeing Negura there, attacking Angelina and everyone else!"

"Yeah, that's true," he said hesitantly. "But I don't remember much, I lost conscious soon after that freak attacked me."

"It doesn't matter, mate, because this is it! This is what we are looking for! Now, listen," Harry said quickly so he could follow the flow of his thoughts. "You and Arthur both remember being attacked by Negura. That's a fact. Another fact is that you left the Grimmauld Place _before_ Negura finished the fight with Voldemort. _Before _Negura could defeat him and _before_ Voldemort could - as Negura proclaimed - bewitch us. If Negura's testimony was true, then you would have to remember _Voldemort_ attacking you – not that nasty vampiric liar! And that's also why he's coming here, isn't it? He knows, where's the weak point of his false witness. It's not us – meaning me and Hermione – it's you and your father! He's after you and your father, Ron! Maybe he was convinced that you couldn't survive his attack and now when he found out that you've managed to escape … he wants to finish it..."

Ron looked like he might faint any second. He paled considerably and stumbled backward.

"Harry, no one knows if Negura's really coming here," Hermione whispered, but she was just as pale as her boyfriend.

"But what if he is...," Harry said desperately. "And I'm afraid that this is exactly what we should expect. By the way, he didn't come here before the sunset. Because he's a bloody vampire!"

"So it's really the truth...," Neville whispered and squeezed his hand on Hannah's shoulder. She said nothing, only turned a little green.

"The Ministry is ruled by a sick, cold-blooded vampire!" Lee gasped for breath.

"It's not surprising," Luna spoke softly for the first time since the start of their gathering. "My father keeps saying that for years. Rufus Scrimgeour and You-Know-Who are vampires too."

Everyone turned to her, gaping at her openly.

"You didn't know about it?" she asked innocently and looked up at a small twig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.

"More Nargles, I see," she mumbled for herself.

"No!" Hermione finally sputtered. "Scrimgeour wasn't a vampire and neither is You-Know-Who!"

Harry only blinked numbly. He didn't understand how Luna always did this. He really wanted to laugh out aloud, even though the situation wasn't really comical.

"Okay," he cleared his throat, refocusing on the problem. "When we sorted this out, let's make some decision."

His friends looked back to him, tense and nervous. Harry gave himself a few more seconds to think it over and enjoy the familiar thrill which he felt when he found the enemy's weakness which could be used to thwart his plans.

"We must stop Negura before he makes himself a new army of bloodthirsty vampires. We must prevent the killing of dozens, maybe hundreds of innocent people," Harry said firmly.

"Definitely," Lee nodded.

Harry felt encouraged as he saw how everyone's eyes were glued to him in expectation.

"And I'm afraid we need Voldemort to help us with this task."

The nervousness among his friends grew exponentially. Harry knew he had to explain it right away.

"He's been studying that freak for forty years. He has to know everything about him while we know nothing. We don't have time to do the same laborious work. We need the answers and we need them now."

After few seconds, all of them seemed to come to the same conclusion.

"Okay, so what are we going to do? We can alert the Hogwarts staff so they won't let anyone from the Ministry enter the castle," Neville suggested.

"Do you think it's a good idea? It would only lead to an open battle! I'm sure that not all of the Aurors are under Negura's control. Most of them are simply doing their usual work and if we didn't allow them the entrance, they would come to conclusion that You-Know-Who regained control over Hogwarts. They would attack the castle with full force!" Ron protested.

"That's certainly not what we want," Harry agreed with him. "I'm sure Negura won't attack anyone in the school, at least not in front of somebody else. He's obsessed with keeping himself secret. That's how he made it through the centuries. He attacks only when he's sure that the victims are alone and have no chance to escape. He wouldn't openly reveal his true nature before the Aurors."

"Maybe we are wrong and he won't come," Hannah whispered hopefully. She clutched at Neville's hand firmly, trembling in fear.

Harry only shook his head in response.

"I'm sure he's coming, because he's after Voldemort and he knows that he's pretty helpless right now. There's a huge risk that he's also after you and your dad, Ron," he said to his friend. "I and Hermione are surely on his 'people-to-kill' list too, just not as high I daresay. So we have to make sure that once he's here, Ron and his father aren't alone no matter what. We have to also warn Arthur as soon as possible. I suggest we should split as we have to take care of several tasks now."

"And what about You-Know-Who? What are we going to do with him?" Ron asked nervously.

"The plan's quite simple," Lee spoke before Harry could. "Make You-Know-Who speak. Kill him. Wait for the Leader. Kill the beast too. Have a party."

Though Lee only intended to lighten the atmosphere, Harry didn't feel like laughing at this.

"I would prefer to avoid any killing tonight. I'll go talk to Voldemort. I'll offer him a choice. Either he will help us and swear an Unbreakable Vow that he will stop murdering people, both muggles and magicians, or he will die by Negura's hand – or teeth more likely. If he agrees, then I guess I'll have to take him out of Hogwarts. Besides, I promised the Headmistress that he won't stay for long."

Once again, all of them looked at him in shock, amazement and apprehension at once.

"You mean ... you'll go together with him?" Hannah stuttered out in horror.

"Someone has to, because he cannot use his magic yet," Hermione quickly explained. "It takes many hours, even days, before a magician fully recovers after consummation of the _Fortiserum_. Without an escort providing magical protection, he would be found and killed within an hour," she finished, while watching Harry strangely.

"What a pity for him! I still think everything would be a lot easier without him...," Lee began, before Harry interrupted him.

"I don't think so. Without him, we have no chance to stop that vampire!"

"I just don't think we should let You-Know-Who go freely, that's all."

"Okay, what do you suggest?" Harry asked, looking at Lee expectantly. When he got no answer he looked around.

"Anyone else has got another idea? If yes, please, tell me."

Everyone hushed up, the tension reached the maximum.

"If not, I need a Bonder," Harry added in a low voice and for few seconds no one responded.

Finally Hermione whispered.

"I'll do it, Harry."

"Hermione...," Ron whined and lay his large hand on her shoulder in a protective gesture.

"It's too dangerous! Why do you have to agree with such dangerous things?"

"Because Harry needs a Bonder, Ron," Hermione answered coolly.

"Fine," Ron sighed. "But I'm coming with you. And if that monster merely looks at you wrongly then I swear I'll tear off his head and..."

"Ron. You have to go tell you father about the danger he is in. You're _both_ in. It would be for the best if you did it in person. Only then he's really going to believe it, I think. And try not to inform Molly, she would go crazy in fear for you," Hermione whispered and touched the hand on her shoulder.

"Don't go alone, Ron. Always keep someone around. The more people, the better," Harry added quietly. "Also, I would like to ask someone to find out what's going on outside the school. When exactly the Aurors should arrive, how many of them will come and similar things."

"I'll do it," Neville volunteered. "I'll keep you informed by the Patronus Charm. Who's coming with me?"

"I am," Lee said firmly. No one had to ask Hannah who was practically glued to Neville's hand now.

"Luna, would you accompany Ron?" Harry asked his wistful friend as she was the only one who didn't express herself.

"Certainly," Luna answered as if it was completely unnecessary to ask her such a thing.

"Fine. Ron, please, be careful. All of you. I'd rather if we stayed together, but we don't have a time."

"All right, I'll meet you in the dungeons once my dad is safe. Make sure _he_ won't do any harm to Hermione," Ron said quietly, and squeezed her hand gently.

"Sure," Harry nodded and took a deep breath to encourage himself before the following encounter. Hopefully his heart wouldn't betray him, when he was so successful pretending that he didn't really care about Riddle.

"Let's go."

xxxxx

Few minutes later Harry and Hermione stood before a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons. A delicious smell of food was still wafting from the Great Hall, but they had to go away from the warmth and light, down the cold passageway.

"Creepy," Harry strained through his teeth. "I don't understand how Slytherins can stand living in there."

Hermione said nothing, only rubbed her arms as if she was cold.

They descended in silence, Harry was too worried and also a bit excited about seeing Voldemort again that he didn't want to talk much and Hermione probably felt the same. It didn't go unnoticed by him that she was thinking about something intensively. He decided not to ask.

The Hogwarts' dungeons were unpleasantly wet, cold and drowned in shadows. The rough walls around them were lined with twinkling torches, which produced only minimal illumination. Harry found the cold, musty air irritating, and the echoing sound of their footsteps was quickly getting on his nerves too. He needed some distraction and so he finally spoke.

"Do you know where exactly is his cell?"

"I was told that it's not very far. We have to find the guard," she whispered, surveying the musty dungeons with unconcealed disdain.

"I can't stop thinking about Ron. Hopefully he'll be fine," she added distractedly.

Harry understood her worries and tried to calm her down.

"Sure. He can take care of himself and don't forget he's with Luna, who's also a great duelist. All of this is just a precaution. And even if it wasn't, we know everything about Hogwarts. Where to go, where to hide. Negura doesn't."

"Maybe," she breathed out. "I just would be happier if he was with us, that's all."

"Yeah, me too," Harry agreed.

"By the way, Harry," she said, sounding more calm, "every member of the Weasley family believe in us and not in what the Aurors say. Mostly because of Percy, who's still in the Ministry. Umbridge, who talked to Professor McGonagall few hours ago, said that he stayed there by his own will and that he doesn't want to have anything to do with us anymore. That's surely not truth. It seems more likely that someone on the Ministry bewitched him to use him against us. I recall that when we were at the Ministry yesterday night, I saw Negura reading _your_ private documents, Harry. I'm afraid that you might be his next target."

"What a sly bastard," Harry sputtered indignantly, fisting his hands. "What a dirty game he's playing with us!"

Hermione nodded.

"I can't say that V-Voldemort is less terrifying than him but he's not as tricky and cunning."

"Negura's more sly than the Heir of Slytherin," Harry threw in.

"Exactly," she said and smirked slightly.

They were silent again and Harry surmised that they were getting closer.

"We're almost there," Hermione confirmed his thoughts and slowed down significantly until she fully halted. They were still far enough from the guard to hear them.

"Harry there's one thing I would like to discuss with you before we enter _his_ cell," Hermione said with a serious face.

Harry, who stopped as well, looked at her, wondering what was on her mind.

"Ask me whatever you want," he said.

She hesitated for a long time. Longer than Harry expected. The thing which bothered had to be either very serious or totally embarrassing. Or maybe both, he didn't know.

Finally she found a resolve and spoke.

"Harry, please, don't misunderstand me. I don't mean to be obtrusive... It's just that I happen to witness some _things_ between you and _him_ … which were … eh … of a more private nature … and therefore none of my business, but I hope you can forgive my curiosity. You surely understand that we … I … would really like to know what's going on. Just for case that something happened between you … and _him_. Something that significantly changes the situation..."

Harry felt that whatever blood he had in his veins turned to ice, freezing his body in place.

"Hermione," he finally said his voice barely audible. "You're not implying what I think you're implying_. __Are you_?"

She said nothing, merely watched him.

"Because if you are referring to that moment when you saw Riddle molest me," Harry said through his gritted teeth, "then believe me, I was totally disgusted by his action. That's all. There's nothing else to talk about."

Which was a lie of course and Harry really hated lying to his friends, but accepting the truth and saying aloud that he was _mad_ and _perverted_ seemed even worse.

He only noticed that her eyebrows furrowed slightly as a thoughtful expression reappeared on her face.

"You kissed him back," she said simply, making Harry, who had forced himself to move again, trip up and almost fall over.

"_What?-!_" he hissed sharply. "H-How can you even say something like that?-!"

"Harry, I assure you that I can tell the difference. If you were disgusted by it as you say, you would react like I did when McLaggen tried to kiss me at Slughorn's party four years ago. But you looked … your reaction was similar to mine when Krum kissed me for the first time. Not particularly thrilled, but accepting it and..."

"HERMIONE!"

She looked at him and the question in her eyes made Harry feel like a total moron. But how could she talk about it as if she incidentally caught him kissing some sweet, lovely girl? It was the Dark Lord for Merlin's sake! It was crazy _and_ abnormal!

"Why are you saying it as if … as if it was all right with you?-!" he forced through his clenched throat.

Their eyes met and she held his stare for a while before she ultimately sighed.

"It's not all right with me," she replied. "Or, more precisely, it's not _completely_ all right with me."

Harry froze again.

"What do you mean? Please, explain," he whispered, his voice still strained.

This time it was Hermione, who avoided his eyes.

"It's really difficult, Harry. First, I must say I partly agree with your attempts to deny it. But the truth is that..." She paused and looked directly at him. "The truth is that during past several days, you've been more _alive_ than in previous three years altogether. Gone is the mourning, mute, embittered Harry who brought us so many worries. Gone is the Harry who drowned his pain in alcohol, finding satisfaction in whores' embraces and ignored our helping hands. It's you again. You're once again the old Harry we all missed so much. And I'm not the only one who noticed it. We just didn't say anything in fear that you might _reverse _again."

She paused, leaving Harry speechless.

"But you won't, you're back for good, aren't you?" she said softly a moment later. "And I'm not stupid to deny that it's You-Know-Who's doing. And though I absolutely hate that man, I'm immensely grateful that he helped you to tear down those walls which you had built around yourself. I'm grateful that he pulled you out of that miserable shell where you lived for that long."

Harry watched her for a long while without any movement and then he finally closed his eyes and pulled down his spectacles.

"Generally speaking, you think he fixed me," he breathed out.

She nodded approvingly.

Harry wiped the thin film of dust on his glasses into his shirt and put them back on.

"Ironical, isn't it? First he broke me into pieces like these," he said and pointed at his specs, "only to repair me in the same manner – for what reason?"

"I don't think he did it on purpose," she opposed quietly.

"Nah, of course he didn't. I was just kidding," Harry scoffed and shook his head. "Come on Hermione, what you've just said doesn't actually show me in a good light. It seems that I must be a horrible person … as the only way I can forget about Ginny is when I think of Voldemort instead. As if _he_ could ever be anything close to her replacement. That's sick … I'm a sick guy, Hermione. I need to stop talking like this … and thinking like this. I have to stop it because it makes me feel so … dirty."

"No Harry, listen," she said quickly and caught his forearm. "You shouldn't feel bad about developing affection for someone, because after everything what happened to you, it's a true miracle that you're still capable to feel it. You surely know what Dumbledore told you about your greatest power, don't you?"

"The ability to love," Harry said bitterly. "Yes, I know that. But what would Dumbledore think of me now?"

"I think he would be surprised. And amused. He would probably say that love and music are two most wondrous things in this world," she said lightly.

Harry's shocked expression surely had to look comical.

"You really think he would say that?" he asked disbelievingly.

The truth was that Dumbledore had some weird opinions too, it was probably a curse of every great wizard, but Harry honestly couldn't imagine the reaction of his mentor as he learned that Lord Voldemort for once decided to treat his dreamed-of victim with something other than the Killing Curse and that The-Boy-Who-Lived didn't mind it very much.

"Yes," she nodded and slowly re-assumed walking. "Definitely. I've read all his books and he always mentioned something similar in his author's comments. He certainly believed in that."

It didn't make Harry feel any better.

"Just why are you trying to convince me that it is all right? For Heaven's sake, I don't _even like him_, Hermione! It's just … that I cannot deny that weird, freaky and totally unwanted attraction. That's all."

His back slumped and he covered his forehead with his palm.

"I just don't know what to do," he said quietly. "I think I should find myself some girl, like Ron suggested. It should help me get over this insanity."

She remained quiet and though her face smoothed, Harry recognized that something still troubled her.

"I wonder how to help you, Harry," she said a moment later and stopped again.

"I'd say just forget about him and move on," she added and scratched her nose. "But I know it doesn't work like that. I've spent four years in tears because I was in love with a certain _boy_, who only hurt me over and over again. There were times when I really wished I was in love with someone else, but it's not something you can change that easily. You see, I didn't give up and fortunately that boy grew some brains in the end - though, sometimes I still doubt it a little. I know better now that you cannot dictate your heart and I also think that it would be a huge mistake if you hated yourself for being able to … feel affection, even if it is towards such a _person_. It would be more proper to hate yourself for not being able to feel anything, because then you would be just like _him_."

"So, it's all right with you," Harry concluded, incredulous.

"Yes … and no," she answered hesitantly.

"I see. You still wish for me to work on developing feelings for someone else. _Anyone _else," he clarified and Hermione nodded fervently.

"Yes. He might have helped you once, but he's going to destroy you in the end if you don't stop it, Harry."

"He'll try to do that for sure," he agreed. "Don't worry, Hermione. I won't let it happen just as I don't intend to act upon any feelings I might have. Please, let's just pretend we've never talked about this. Can you do that for me?"

"Are you ready to deal with it alone? Because if not I'm..."

"Definitely. I'll be all right."

"Okay," she said hesitantly. "If that's what you want."

"Thanks," he whispered and smiled a bit forcefully. "Now we have to hurry. We don't have much time to waste."

They reached a massive black door in the middle of the longest corridor in Hogwarts dungeons in record time. Harry was immensely curious who Voldemort's guard will be but he never expected to see Professor Sprout standing before the door.

"Good evening, Professor," he said simultaneously with Hermione, successfully hiding his surprise.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger. I'm sure I know why you're here but unfortunately, I cannot let you enter without supervision," she said plainly.

"Supervision?" Harry asked, shocked beyond belief. "I need supervision?"

"Yes. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a very dangerous criminal, who … ah, I don't have to tell you about this, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, Professor I'm aware of that. But strangely, the prophecy said nothing about the supervision which I obviously need to defeat Lord Voldemort."

Harry knew that this was a bit bratty behaviour, but he really needed to get inside without someone watching over them.

Pomona took a deep breath and pressed her lips together.

"I wish I didn't have to say this but there's a suspicion that he keeps both of you under his control," she whispered.

"It may seem like that but it is practically impossible, Professor. You surely know that You-Know-Who had only the barest amount of magical energy at the moment, only enough to survive. He can't control anything or anyone right now," Hermione said calmly. "Besides, we just need to ask him a few questions. They are going to execute him soon and then it would be too late to look for the answers."

Harry had to admit that Hermione's arguing was extraordinary. He could see that Professor Sprout already agreed with her logic.

"Very well," she finally nodded. "Show me your Patroni and then you can enter."

A few seconds later the shining stag and otter ran down the corridor, enlightening its dark walls with their soft glow.

Professor Sprout then gave them a last comprehensive warning, asked them to be very careful and not to come anywhere close to the prisoner and then the door to the cell were already opening.

With his nerves all tensed up, Harry nodded, took a deep breath and, together with Hermione, stepped inside.

**_R&R_**

******Author's note: **Patroni is a plural form of Patronus, you can find it on Wikipedia. (I didn't know it too, but fortunately I have a very attentive beta. :-) )


	3. The Chase, part 1

**Author's note: **Thank you very much for your very kind reviews! I loved all of them, they made me really happy. Knowing that you like this so much is a great motivation for me to go on!

Rating of this chapter: **T**

Special thanks to my great beta: **TheSecretUchiha**

And now, enjoy the chapter! :D

**The Chase, part I **

His magic.

The essence of his existence, the wondrous, dangerous power which made him an exceptional being, was gone. It was painfully obvious now that things did not progress the way he intended. _He_ shouldn't have drank that potion, _he_ shouldn't have overused his magical potential and _he _shouldn't have ignored the recuperation period his body needed to heal from previous injuries.

Some might think that he was being thoughtless, but no, he always considered everything with utmost care. He anticipated treason when Draco Malfoy so bumptiously summoned him. He wasn't surprised to find Negura there; he knew that the freak didn't want to wait for him to re-obtain his full powers. Their clash was unavoidable, drinking the _Fortiserum _probably was too. That's why he brought that flask along after all. He knew his limits and according to his plan he shouldn't reach them by far.

In the end, the only thing which truly crossed his expectations was Negura's survival. He was a hundred percent certain that the bloodsucking freak was not going to outlast that final powerful smite. Everything he envisaged counted on this single presumption.

It was a bit foolish of him, he could see it now. No matter how small the chance was, he should have considered this option too. If he did, he wouldn't be so surprised to see Negura withstand magic invented by Merlin himself. The freak might have been burned and broken, yet he was still capable of a full recovery within an impossibly short amount of time.

And he, Lord Voldemort, was taken aback by this development. Once again, the moment of his ultimate victory turned into a humiliating defeat, though he failed to see any significant error in his actions and decisions.

Could the reason behind this be the lack of fortune, Potter's secret power, something the boy teemed with, while he always fell short of it? If he had just a shred of the boy's luck, he would have conquered the world many years ago. He couldn't win without it, no matter how careful, thoughtful and foreseeing he was.

This defeat was the final proof of it. There was no prison waiting for him, no, they planned to kill him, he knew that much. The members of the Order, or whoever it was who chained him to that cold, uncomfortable chair and asked him the prying questions, _wanted_ to see him dead. He was blindfolded but he could hear how that intent seeped into their spiteful voices. They didn't discuss Potter's opinion about his execution; they didn't even mention the boy's name. Maybe they didn't trust their _Chosen One_ anymore – or maybe Negura already intervened, giving them false, nevertheless very convincing evidence of Potter's unreliability. He excelled in this; that's also why he was one of his best Death Eaters forty years ago. Playing dirty games has always been one of Negura's favourite hobbies.

But why should any of it matter to him now, when he was being questioned and soon to be killed, he didn't know. If his mind wasn't blinded by that devastating fear of dying, he would probably find the whole situation ludicrous. Ignominious death. That's what he tried to avoid at any price. That's what awaited him in few minutes or seconds. He felt his heart pounding fiercely in his chest while he waited in horrendous tension for those two well-known words of the worst curse of all. His terror was ultimate, persecuting him, tainting his every thought. He barely held himself from showing it. It was only his stubborn, immense pride that kept his mouth shut and his face expressionless.

He didn't respond to those questions and to his great surprise none of his inquisitors insisted on getting the answers. Soon they were gone but being alone didn't bring any relief. He should have anticipated this too. They were surely waiting for Negura to come here and finish it. Maybe the freak even sent them an official request. The thought of it made his empty stomach clench, deepening his nausea to a point where he thought he couldn't bear it anymore. He wasn't prepared to face this by far. And yet here, in the quiet of this cell, he had to come to terms with his fate and re-evaluate his long-standing opinions. Nothing was worse than death, _besides_ the dying itself. How dreadful it was when nothing else could be done besides waiting for it to happen. Shivers ran up and down his spine as he imagined the moment when the doors would come open and he would hear Negura's melodic, slightly raspy voice, taunting him, mocking him and jeering at him. He hated this fear, this weakness that was stripping him of his dignity. His plans to become the most powerful wizard of all times, his purpose and zealous effort to change the world according to his concept, all of it seemed distant now, unfeasible and pointless like a childish dream.

Everything was taken from him. Here he was, without magic and wand, tethered to a metal chair in some cold, wet room, wallowing in pain rather than thinking of what was to come. Every single cell of his body hurt and he relished in that feeling. The agony was telling him that he was still alive. It didn't matter too much that only his faultless self-control kept him silent, away from screaming and losing coherency. The torture was pure and exquisite … he could almost appreciate it as he alone enjoyed evoking these sensations in his victims. He was being scorched by that uncultured, crude and wild energy belonging to no one else than Harry Potter in person; the boy who he's been thinking of ever since he woke up.

He recalled seeing his flawless face for the briefest moment before they blindfolded him. Potter was igniting this suffering within his body with such an innocent expression that he wanted to roar and tear him apart on the spot.

The boy didn't know about the importance of a suitable donor for a successful magic-sharing. It was one of the absolute necessities for any transfer of magic. The nurse and the teachers surely knew about that, though they hardly cared about how much his and Potter's 'incompatibility' made him suffer. The only thing they were concerned about was their _Chosen_, who had to remain unaffected.

He wished he could hate that green-eyed brat for this pain as he hated him for his braveness (how could he face his death so evenly?), for his compassion (something he never wanted to receive from his enemy) and for his undeniable physical _perfection_ which affected him more and more every time they met.

A feeling of such agony would surely extend his malignancy towards The-Boy-Who-Lived to an entirely new level, if he weren't aware that Potter hurt him _unwillingly_ and only in order to _save_ him. This, of course, changed the situation quite dramatically. He had no idea why Potter decided to do that and as the young man avoided him ever since then, he had no chances to find it out. Still, the simple thought of his face, of his voice evoked the weirdest sensations in his chest. It was strong enough to divert his attention from the pain he felt and his fear of approaching death. Naturally, he wanted to know the meaning of it.

By simple inferring from facts, he could say that Potter became abnormally obsessed with his hero complex, saving everyone in trouble he met. That was probably why he risked his life for Draco Malfoy (if he was sincere about his proclamation that he didn't love him) and it seemed that even he, Lord Voldemort, was included. He surely meant nothing special to Potter; even that kiss was fake and insincere, no matter how pleasant it felt. He noticed that the magicians fighting for the Light side were doing this a lot. By kissing each other they tried to offer support and sympathy that evidently helped them overcome their own emotional hurt and insecurity. And _The Chosen One _had to lead them by example, of course. Therefore, he should not consider being kissed by him as anything significant; Potter still surely hated him the most.

Instead of expected elation after coming to this plain and logical conclusion, another seizure of weird emotions constricted his chest. For a moment he feared that he might suffocate. His heart thudded against his ribcage just like moments ago when he thought he was going to be killed. He gasped for breath, frenzied, and quickly redirected the course of his feverish thoughts.

He needed to stop thinking of Potter in that way for it had a very strange and undesirable effect on him. Instead, he should solely focus on his survival. He must not miss a single chance, not even the tiniest one, to escape from this prison. When he had lost his body nineteen years ago, he was similarly broken and helpless. If he managed to deal with it then, why couldn't he now?

He just needed some time to learn how to control the flow of that alien force in his body so it would stop hurting him so much. And once Harr … Potter comes to see him, he would have to convince him by tricks or force that keeping him alive was for the best. Thinking of which, sharing Potter's magic might have offered some advantages after all. If that brat didn't want to visit him from his free will, he may try to compel him a little, preferably before the freak's arrival. With this new task on his mind, he began to work in silence, minute by minute, hour by hour, learning more and more about that untamed energy coursing inside him.

xxxxx

The room was small, murky, with no window or fireplace. The only negligible illumination was provided by softly glimmering flames on top of two heavy steel torches attached to the wall by the entrance. Harry lit the tip of Voldemort's wand, squeezing it firmly in his hand as the coldness crept beneath his fingernails. An unpleasant stench of fustiness, wetness and pungent smoke irritated his nose. He rubbed it with the back of his hand and glanced over his shoulder at Hermione. Her face was pale and tense, yet something about her told Harry that she didn't doubt her resolution. He looked back then, surveying the cell quickly.

There was only one massive iron chair standing in the middle of the room, nothing else and Harry felt a sudden uneasiness as he hesitantly approached the person seated in it.

Lord Voldemort, _his captive _as Professor McGonagall so inconveniently called him, was dressed in his usual dark robes, shackled from head to toe, a black strap over his eyes obscuring his vision. As Harry came closer, he noticed that Riddle's body was completely rigid. The prisoner held his breath, his muscles were straining against the chains so much that Harry was briefly worried about the injuries the hard iron could cause him. It was cutting deeply into his thin skin that had already begun to bruise around the exposed areas.

Voldemort finally drew in a short breath, a mere shallow and fitful gasp accompanied by cascades of shivers running down his body, making the tips of his unnaturally long, bluish fingers twitch.

And Harry wanted to swear like his uncle after seeing that.

Before he stepped inside, he promised himself that he would behave the best he could. He wanted to show Hermione how perfectly in control over his abnormal feelings he was.

Bullshit.

He was in no control over anything.

His body declared a war on his noble goal to remain the icon of probity and morality. (Although, he had to admit that the purity of that icon was already soiled by Rita's articles about his drunken escapades and visits of lewd houses.) What his imagination presented him now, when he was facing Riddle chained to that chair, was however far beyond Rita's wildest fantasies. It had nothing to do with feeling pity and compassion for Lord Voldemort. No, as frustrating as it was, he didn't feel victorious satisfaction or revengeful desires either, thought this sight definitely stirred a positive response within his body. And he would certainly appreciate it even better if they were alone and in much cosier and warmer place. He realized that he wanted to see those poor muscles tighten under that perfect skin, but for completely different reasons than fear. He remembered that Riddle told him quite recently about his desire to tame a lion, but subduing him - a tamer - sounded as much greater fun for Harry.

His mouth ran short of saliva; he quickly licked his lips which remained dry, his body growing itchy. There was only one thing he could possibly do in that situation. He turned back, striding to the doors before his freaky needs could completely overpower him.

"Harry!"

That call was like a slap, waking him from his self-induced infatuation. It cleared his head, dragging him back to the reality again. Thank God for having Hermione around.

She gently seized his forearm, watching him with something close to understanding in her eyes.

"This was a very bad idea," he whispered to her. "I don't know why I thought I could do this."

"Harry," she said, her voice quiet and soft. "If Negura's coming here, we don't have much time. You must decide."

He bit his lower lip, rolling the flesh between his teeth for a moment before he slowly nodded.

"I know."

He turned back to the Dark Lord, taking in a deep breath.

This time he approached him quickly, crossing the distance in four quick steps and pulling down the black strap over Voldemort's eyes right away.

The man in chair was no longer tense, his body seemed more relaxed, his head slightly inclined. He didn't look at Harry, but he spoke to him in a cold whisper.

"Harry Potter. You've come at last."

Only then he slowly raised his pale, pearly glowing head; his unnaturally white skin sharply contrasting with his burning red eyes.

"I've been waiting."

Harry said nothing. He was busy keeping his expression neutral and his mind blank. The last thing he wanted was Voldemort discovering what he was thinking about a moment ago. As they stared at each other Harry suddenly noticed pink hand prints on both of Voldemort's white cheeks. First it occurred to him that someone had to slap him really hard and that would be quite funny if he didn't realize right away that his skin actually looked burned, not bruised. Involuntarily, he glanced down at him own scorched palms.

"Tell me, Harry, how's Negura?" Voldemort said in a cold, sly voice, ignorant of Harry's thoughts. "Already made you a culprit or managed to convince you that killing me is the only thing you want?"

"Killing you _was_ the only thing I wanted, even without that vampire telling me this," Harry replied quietly and noticed instant alert and distress in those crimson eyes. The next second it was gone.

"So, you've come here to watch me die after all," the Dark Lord said blankly, already losing interest in the course of discussion.

Resignation. It was undeniable; Harry simply disliked seeing him like that.

"No," he said without hesitation. "Actually, I'm here to offer you a deal."

Finally a response Harry was waiting for. Voldemort's whole body revived after hearing those words and Harry could see the plans of escape being born behind those calculating eyes.

"Really?" Riddle spoke softly and leaned to the youngster as much as the chains allowed.

"And that mudblood behind you is here for what purpose?"

Harry's fists automatically curled after hearing that foul name Voldemort used for Hermione. He leaned to him as well, their faces inches apart.

"Insult her once again and forget whatever deal I have for you," he whispered icily.

Voldemort pressed his lips together, saying nothing.

"She has a name. Treat her with the respect she deserves!"

"Harry, don't..." Hermione whispered, her voice shaking with tension.

"She deserves only..." Voldemort easily drowned her voice by his cold hiss before Harry stopped him with pointing an accusative forefinger at him.

"Don't. Go. Any. Further! You'd be probably dead already without her help. You're only alive thanks to people you hate the most - muggles and muggle-borns!"

Harry turned to look at Hermione, seeing a mixture of sadness and distress in her eyes.

"I wish you weren't so blind and could actually see that," Harry sighed as he looked back at the Dark Lord.

Riddle didn't find it worth a comment, which made the youngster sigh again.

"Let's get to the heart of the matter, 'cause we don't have all night for this. Now, listen. We need information about Negura, especially about his habits, his weak points and his strategies. Then you must swear the Unbreakable Vow that you will never kill a human being ever again. If you do that, I'll make sure that you'll get out of Hogwarts alive."

Voldemort said nothing at first. He watched Harry for long seconds without the slightest movement before his lips finally twitched. Three seconds later they twitched again. The strange gurgling sound growing in Riddle's throat fully erupted, turning into a fit of maniacal cackle.

It stopped as quickly as it began.

"You really believed that I would _serve_ you like this, didn't you Potter? That I would bend my spine and kiss your feet. That I would do whatever you ask me to do. If yes, then I must say that your natural intelligence was completely obliterated during your brainwashing sessions with Dumbledore."

He could as well spit into his face, Harry would feel the same. It hurt. It made him feel cheapened. He could only take a step backwards, shaking his head.

"Fine," he hissed, grounding his teeth. "If this is what you want then I guess we'll have to find a way to defeat him without you."

It was the only thing he could get out of his throat before he turned away from him and once again strode towards the door in fear that the pain in his chest would consume him. As he passed Hermione, he seized her elbow, dragging her along.

"Potter!"

He ignored his call, reaching for the door-handle.

"Potter!"

He took the handle in his hand, squeezing it resolutely.

"**_Potter!"_**

That desperate hissing sound perforated his decision, forcing him to look back against his will. Oh, yes, Voldemort was frightened, panicking. He obviously didn't expect him to leave like this for a reason Harry couldn't completely comprehend. Riddle, seeing that he had his attention, spoke quickly in a venomous hiss.

"**_I am willing to tell you what I know about that bloodsucking freak. However, if I had a key to his immortality I would have destroyed him last night, wouldn't I?"_**

Harry's hand slipped from the handle and he fully turned to him.

"**_Concerning the Unbreakable Vow, I cannot swear it from the obvious reasons. I am not suicidal."_**

"Aren't you the greatest wizard alive, Voldemort?" Harry responded quietly. "You don't have to kill anyone unless you want to."

"It's not that simple, Potter..."

"It is!" Harry barked out, coming back to him, leaving Hermione standing by the door.

"It's very simple. Either you'll do what I say, or you'll die. There's nothing really difficult about it!"

Harry was getting really angry and what upset him most was that over Voldemort's non-compliance, over his unfriendly treatment of his friends, over his freaky snake-like appearance, he was still affected by him in the most embarrassing way. Who wouldn't be mad at him at this point?

But he wasn't the only one pissed off; he could see the fury in Voldemort's eyes too.

"**_You're not giving me any choice, Potter,"_** the hissed acidly.

"**_That's right, I'm not,"_** Harry hissed back, leaning closer to him and his body completely betrayed him at that moment, giving into its craving for touch. His fingers curled around the back of Riddle's neck, pressing into his cool skin to deepen the contact. He wanted to keep touching him, he wanted to feel that living silk beneath his palm, he wanted it so much that it was driving him crazy. Just why did this man have to be such a heartless bastard? Harry increased his grip, half-expecting the furious hiss that he always received whenever he did something without Riddle's consent. Strangely, Voldemort didn't protest this time. Over his open anger, he seemed to be revelling in that contact. This realization only raised Harry's blood pressure to a dangerous level. He watched him close his eyes and mutter something under his breath, before he opened them again, irritation disappearing from his face to be gradually replaced by a sly smile.

The youngster was quite taken aback by that unexpected change in Voldemort's behaviour.

Something wasn't all right. Harry couldn't get rid of the feeling that he just missed something important, some clue that would help him explain Riddle's odd reaction. He just wanted to ask what it meant, when Hermione interrupted him again. She called his name but he already saw it too, a slight shimmering light reflecting in Voldemort's eyes. He turned to look at the source and his heart faltered for a second.

It was Neville's Patronus, a large tree frog, who jumped inside the cell through the two feet thick wall.

"They arrived," it spoke with Neville's voice. "Negura, Umbridge and six Aurors. Hurry up, they'll be down there within ten minutes."

And then it dissolved in a soft, shining mist that slowly evaporated.

"It seems," Voldemort's cold voice broke through the momentary silence, "that my questioning about Negura has to wait. Let's make _a bond_, Harry, so we can get out of here."

Harry looked back at him, foreboding growing in his chest. The previous anger in Riddle's face was purely genuine, but this _smile_ was the falsest thing he had ever seen.

He hesitated, tried to read those frightening eyes and failed completely.

"We are running out of time, Harry. You must set me free, so I can take the Vow," Voldemort sneered.

Harry glanced behind at Hermione. She had a wand in her hand, watching them silently. There was a small wrinkle between her eyebrows showing that she was deep in thought, contemplating something.

"Okay," Harry finally breathed out and turned back to him.

He raised the wand and released the chains that kept Voldemort in the chair one after another. Once unshackled, the Dark Lord let out a relieved sigh and slowly rose to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs. Then, with that cunning smirk still on his lips, he extended his right hand towards Harry in an almost friendly gesture.

Harry was quite suspicious about Voldemort's early and easy submission, but he ultimately took it that Riddle wanted to get over this as soon as possible and so he accepted the offered hand, feeling the long, cold, bony fingers clasp around his palm.

"Hermione," he said a little breathlessly, his eyes never leaving the Dark Lord's.

He heard her step closer and saw her raise the wand from the corner of an eye. To his surprise, she didn't aim it at their joined hands, but at Voldemort instead.

"Don't do this Harry," she whispered while gazing at their long time enemy, who took the trouble to scald her with his glare. "I think … that this is a trap. He's trying to beguile us," she said firmly.

Harry's hand twitched in Voldemort's grip.

"What?" he asked, glancing at her nervously. "How could he possibly do that?"

Hermione gulped quickly, she was nervous too, but the wand in her hand was steady.

"Just think of the principle of the Unbreakable Vow. What is it that kills you if you break it?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered, impatient and more tense than ever. "Your magic perhaps?"

He was still watching Voldemort, who was now constantly glaring at Hermione, his lips firmly sealed, his face unmoving like a mask.

"Yes, your magic," Hermione whispered. "The Vow is sealed with the sorcerer's magic. And as you can see, he doesn't have it at the moment. He's got only yours, which will be gone from his body in hours or days at most. In the best case, I think that the Unbreakable Vow wouldn't be efficient after that time. In the worst possible case, _you_ would die if he broke his promise."

Harry whipped his hand out of Riddle's clutch, staring at him disbelievingly.

"_You__…__"_ he wheezed, gritting his teeth, but Voldemort was still staring at Hermione.

"Excellent, _Granger_," he whispered coldly. "So it is really true that a spawn of a muggle dirt carries the brains of _The Golden Trio_. I could hardly believe it at first."

Then he finally turned his attention to Harry, the awful smile no longer plastered on his face.

"I hope you won't dare to blame me for this, Potter. This was after all _your idea_."

An unbearable silence filled the room as Harry couldn't rebut that assertion.

"So," Voldemort broke it several seconds later. "This charade was quite useless, showing that you have nothing to keep me in check with. What will you do now, Potter? Let me die, or _what_?"

No, Harry couldn't just do that, no matter how insufferable Riddle was most of the time. The horrible monster in his chest, the one that will certainly induce a heart attack, wouldn't allow it. At least not before he could press that bastard's skinny body into the mattress and molest him to the point that he won't remember anything beside Harry's name which he would make him scream over and over and over again... Yeah, it would be _so_ satisfying...

"Take a Vow without the wand, then," he said firmly his bright green eyes staring intently into the burning orbs.

"You must stop killing people. Promise me that you'll do that and you will live."

Voldemort's pale, nearly invisible lips curled upwards. He said nothing.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You know that he won't keep that promise. Why did you even suggest it?"

Harry's stare grew harder and colder.

"But he will have to keep it. Because if he breaks it, then I'll do my best to help Negura kill him."

The wicked smile disappeared from Riddle's face, turning into an acid glare.

"Now, Potter, who would have thought that you would lower yourself to use such a strategy?" he said bitingly.

Harry had a similarly pleasant answer on his tongue. He didn't say anything though, because the shimmering light of Neville's Patronus entered the room again.

"They're coming. Five minutes!"

"Damn!" Harry cursed and looked directly into Riddle's red eyes. "Will you swear it?"

Now it was Lord Voldemort's turn to look exasperated.

"Yes," he spat, disgusted.

"Then do it."

Voldemort bared his teeth to show his greatest possible irritation, but basically he said the words Harry was waiting for.

"I swear I won't kill anyone ever again. Satisfied, Potter?" he snarled, his voice like acid.

"Not really," Harry retorted, irritated as well. "Say I swear I won't kill anyone ever again, including muggles and muggle-borns, because you don't consider them as people at all."

Voldemort's lips tightened, his eyes narrowing, his long fingers curling in rage.

"Then I won't kill anyone ever again, including muggles and muggle-borns, you brat! Now, tell me how will you get me out of here when Negura's practically behind that door!"

The youngster took a deep breath. Riddle was right about that, but fortunately Harry was convinced that he found an acceptable solution of this problem.

"Remember what you just promised me, Riddle. Because I will remember it too," he said and then he slowly raised the yew wand, pointing it at the Dark Lord, which made the wizard hiss in agitation.

Harry remained calm, though deep inside he felt the pressure of the limited time they had.

"Tell me, what animal do you prefer?" he asked. "A crow, a rabbit or a mouse? I would offer you a snake, but I don't know the proper Transfiguration formula. Hermione probably does, but I don't think you would appreciate being transfigured by her."

"What is it, Potter?-!" Riddle sputtered. "You cannot be possibly considering turning _me_ into an animal!"

"Well, the second option is stunning Professor Sprout, which I refuse to do and so does Hermione for sure," Harry said evenly. His face was serene, even though Riddle was having a truly horrific fit of fury, which made Hermione back slowly to the door.

"Harry!" she screamed and pointed her wand at the Dark Lord who launched himself at the raven-haired hero.

"_Commuto musmuris!"_

She didn't have to use any spell, Harry was faster.

The second Harry said the incantation, the Dark Lord disappeared.

Instead of him, a small white mouse squeaked on the ground, running towards Harry with clear murderous intent.

Harry had no problems catching him as he gnawed forcefully into his trousers and shoelaces. He tore him off his cloths and raised him to his eye level.

"Look, I had to pick one option when you refused to… OUCH! That bastard bit me!" he cried out as the Dark Lord used his long teeth to perforate Harry's forefinger. The youngster immediately pointed the tip of the yew wand onto the mouse's little head.

"Do it again and I'll leave you here, bastard!" he sputtered and the mouse showed his sharp teeth, his tiny red eyes blazing. The funny thing was that the small rodent still had slits instead of circular pupils as Harry noticed.

He wiped the bleeding finger into his shirt and said.

"Ungrateful bastard. As if you don't know that I'm doing this only to save your ass!" And with that he stuffed the mouse into his front trouser pocket and turned to his friend.

"We must hurry, Hermione. We're late."

xxxxx

The doors slowly opened and Harry mentally prepared to face the danger behind them. It was quite a funny thing when he considered that he was _leaving_ Voldemort's cell.

The bloodsucking freak wasn't there yet as he immediately noticed, but what improved Harry's mood just as much was his ginger-haired friend, who was standing beside Professor Sprout.

"Ron!" Hermione yelped happily and in the next second she was in his embrace, bombarding him with questions about how it went with his father, for which she got mostly positive answers.

Harry wanted to join the discussion and tell them that they should leave immediately, but Professor Sprout caught his sleeve, asking him quietly.

"Did you find what you needed, Mr. Potter?"

Harry squirmed, mostly because Voldemort flipped over in his jeans, moving against his ... eh … private parts. It surely wasn't the best idea to put him in his pocket, especially if the bastard felt the nasty urge to bite him again.

"N-no," he stuttered, trying not to fidget. "He didn't … really … cooperate with us."

"Not very surprising," Professor Sprout muttered in agreement. "Fortunately, the Aurors will be here in a moment. They will take care of this. You don't have to worry about anything anymore."

Harry could hardly think of a more disputable statement, but he still smiled forcefully.

"Um, yeah … that's great … and now, if you excuse us, Professor, we really must be going."

This decision turned out to come too late.

Harry's breath froze in his throat as he caught a distant sound of many steps echoing through the corridor, approaching them slowly.

"Let's go," Harry whispered to his friends and muttered quick regards to Professor Sprout.

He knew that they must not linger there another moment. It could easily have fatal consequences he realized as he promptly led his friends towards the closest exit, looking for any possible hideout.

"This way," Hermione suggested nervously, pointing towards a corridor nearby.

"Right," Harry breathed out a bit heavily as they turned behind the corner, trotting. The passage was narrow and dark, terminating mere sixty or seventy feet behind the crossing. Harry lightened the tip of the wand again, glancing around quickly. He could only see an old bench and three massive doors blackened from smoke of torches, dusty and covered by spider webs. He reached for the first handle, pulling at it, but it was locked.

"Stand aside, Harry," Hermione whispered and as he moved away as she raised her wand and said.

"_Alohomora!_"

The doors opened with a soft click and all three friends rushed inside. First, they couldn't see much, but soon they adapted to the dimness.

"Where are we?" Ron asked in an insecure voice, his eyes wandering over the tarnished, empty shelves around them. The rest of furniture also looked like no one bothered to clean it during the past century.

"It could be … I think I know what it is – or what it was at least," Hermione said. "In Hogwarts, A History you can find a short paragraph about a small library founded by Salazar Slytherin, which was located in dungeons. Headmaster Dippet canceled its activity many years ago, because he had a correct suspicion that the students were hiding books here about the Dark Arts. Those books were later moved to the restricted section and when Professor Dumbledore became a Headmaster, he removed them completely from the shelves," Hermione explained.

"Great," Ron muttered. "And does that clever book also say where this room has an emergency exit? Because that's the only information I would find really interesting at the moment."

"We will use the main corridor to get out of here, Ron. We just have to wait for the chaos to break loose once they realize that Voldemort's missing. That will help us escape," Harry whispered with his ear pressed to the door. "I also don't want to get lost in these dungeons. Damn – why didn't I take the Marauder's Map along..."

"H- hang on! What are you taking about, Harry? Where's You-Know-Who?-! When I didn't see _him _with you, I thought that he refused your offer!" Ron asked with an unusually high voice. "We didn't actually set _him_ free, did we?"

"He's in my pocket, Ron," Harry said lowly, hoping that Ron would lower his voice as well.

"Because the world would be so much better without…," his friend continued before he finally realized what Harry said.

"What?" he asked numbly.

"He's in my pocket," Harry repeated.

"Wh- where?-!" Ron squeaked, his eyes on top of his head.

"In my pocket, Ron. Voldemort is in my trouser pocket, transfigured into a mouse," Harry explained, fighting slight irritation.

"Y-... you did … you did … that …to _him_?" his ginger-haired friend stammered out after few seconds of gasping for breath. "S- so, he agreed with your … conditions?"

"Um … sort of," Harry muttered. "We'll have a time to discuss it later. Foremost, we must get out of here, pack some necessities, food, some clothes, Invisibility Cloak and leave the castle."

"All of it is in my knapsack hidden in girl's bathroom on the second floor. I couldn't bring it along, it would be too suspicious," Hermione whispered.

Her comment made Ron groan in desperation.

"Great, that's just perfect! We have to find a way out of this maze of corridors and reach the second floor without being seen by anyone while the whole castle will be searched upside down by Aurors, vampire, teachers and the members of the Order! And we should undergo all of it because of that … _monster_! Bloody amazing!"

"You don't have to do that, Ron!" Harry retorted. "You can always join the rest of the Order, pretending that Negura didn't try to kill you and that everything is all right!"

"I would never do that! I would never leave _you_ and _Hermione_ alone with _him_! Not bloody likely! Just when will you start counting on me, Harry?-! I'm with you! But it doesn't mean that I have to agree with everything! Frankly speaking, there's no way we can make it without being caught!"

"Yeah, I've been told this many times if you remem..."

"Hush! Be quiet! I think someone's coming here!" Hermione interrupted him, her voice strained, anxious. All of them stifled their breaths and really, they could here quick steps of five or six people approaching the entrance of their hiding place.

"Find a shelter!" Harry said quickly, squeezing the wand in his palm.

"Where?" Ron countered, pointing at the empty shelves around them.

"Damn! Get your wands ready, don't attack anyone unless necessary. Not even Negura. We must play stupid," Harry whispered as fast as he could, his heart hammering in his chest. It was too late to regret the previous argument now when their hideout was revealed. He had to scheme out some strategy. It doesn't have to be a good one, any would be great at the moment. Maybe he should hide the bastard somewhere. If Negura caught him in his jeans, he would kill them both on that instant, which would be probably a good thing. Harry wouldn't want to survive that embarrassment. He stuffed his hand into his pocket quickly – only to find it empty.

"DAMN!" he cried out, spinning around, looking for that goddamned white mouse, but then with a flash of blue light the doors flew open and their pursuers burst into the room.

Harry instantly recognized McGonagall and Slughorn. They were both pale, breathless and relieved to see him alive. Umbridge and two Aurors whose faces Harry found slightly familiar were significantly less excited about his presence, but neither of them made Harry freeze in something akin fear.

It was him, who did that.

_Dragomir Lucian Negura. _

He was the last to enter the room, looking over it with a certain contempt before his eyes finally located the trio.

No denying, Harry was really afraid. Nevertheless, he was furious too. He wanted to scream at him, he wanted to attack him, tear down his mask of pleasantry that he so nobly presented to everyone so he could reveal his true nature. It was sickening to see his insincere smile, while nastiness clearly shone through those dangerous, cold blue eyes.

"I've heard them correctly, then," Negura spoke in a melodic whisper. "Mr. Potter and his friends."

"For Merlin's sake, what are you doing here, Potter?" McGonagall asked with a shaky voice. "You-Know-Who escaped minutes ago! We were worried that he tried to kill you already!"

"I wouldn't say I was worried for him, _Minerva_. Obviously, Mr. Potter isn't as important a target for You-Know-Who as he likes to present himself," Umbridge said with her sweet, false tone. "What a … pity."

By the corner of an eye Harry noticed that the McGonagall briefly pressed her lips together, but whatever was on her tongue, remained unvoiced for now. At the same time, Harry kept watching Negura. The power of the cold glare he received locked his muscles in place, making his breathing difficult.

"What I find much more disturbing," the vampire said quietly, while finally releasing Harry from his intence stare, "is that Harry Potter was the last one to visit Voldemort before he escaped from the cell."

Most of the wizards and witches in the room shuddered after hearing that name.

"It's strange, really, especially if we consider the reason why this boy sought the help of the Hogwarts staff. He wanted to save that murderer from the beginning," he added softly.

"Nah! You certainly aren't suggesting that Harry is somehow involved in You-Know-Who's escape!" Slughorn voiced his protest loudly.

"Oh, no … no accusations, _yet_. I'm merely pointing at the facts," Negura smirked, pressing the tip of his wand to his lips. "But maybe Mr. Potter can tell us what he was discussing with that criminal. That could give us a key to what Voldemort plans to do now that he's _free_."

Harry bit into his lower lip with such a force that a little droplet of blood coloured it. The sight of that crimson liquid made Negura lick his own lips.

"Voldemort is my responsibility. I'll deal with him alone," Harry hissed under his breath. "I think that the Aurors and the members of the Order should focus on the other dangerous criminal within these walls."

"What is he talking about? What criminal?" Umbridge asked in a girlish, high-pitched voice. "What exactly are you plotting, Potter? You know, I won't let you fool me again! I've never forgotten the way you deceived me that time in that… forest."

"I've never forgotten what you've done to me too," Harry retorted acidly and rubbed the back of his right hand.

"You should learn to show me respect, Potter! I am, after all, the Minister for Magic!" Umbridge was getting upset, her eyes bulging in her eye-sockets.

"Oh, sure," Harry smiled bitterly, his eyes turning back to Negura. "When we are talking about deceit, _Minister_, how is it that you are not laying a charge against me? I attacked you, stunned you actually, don't you remember that?"

"W- what? What are you talking about?" Umbridge spewed out in a squeak.

"Strange, it seems that a certain someone bothered to change your memory, didn't he? Why would he do that?" Harry continued, meeting a deathly cold glare again.

"Harry!" Hermione called out quietly. She knew what game Harry was trying to play and she didn't think it was a good idea, Harry recognized it from her voice. But he wouldn't back off now.

Negura didn't say a word, he merely prowled closer to Harry, that venomous smirk still on his lips.

McGonagall raised her wand, being aware of yet another crisis, while Slughorn only looked confusedly from one to the other.

"You want to know about Voldemort's plans? Well, I can tell you about them. He wants to master the wand in your hand, _Minister _and this is what makes me really curious. Can you tell me how you've obtained it since the last time I saw it, it was in _his_ possession?" Harry asked icily and after a short pause he added. "You've been in that quarry, right? It was you who decided that I deserve to die," he whispered, making McGonagall and Slughorn gasp for breath in surprise, while Umbridge sputtered in indignation.

"And look at this, another wand which belongs to Voldemort, isn't it?" Harry continued and raised the yew wand above his head. "Too many decoys for one Dark Lord, isn't it? We must assume that he's somewhere close, maybe even in this room. So why don't we chase away the darkness with a little illumination?"

Harry glanced at Negura in the very last second and then called out aloud.

"_Lumos Solem!_"

The golden light exploded in the dark space, making most of the present wizards and witches yelp in discomfort. Only one of them actually yelled in pain and covered his face. And Harry was watching him, victorious. He also noticed the most suspicious glance McGonagall send towards that beast.

"Disliking sunshine Dragomir Ne...?" Harry asked, yet didn't finish. The two seconds of his victory were gone.

"What are you trying to prove, Mr. Potter?" Negura hissed viciously, the light suddenly gone and Harry's tongue unpleasantly unresponsive.

"That I'm dead? A vampire? Yes, we've heard about your _ridiculous_ theory and we've had a lot of good laugh about it. It's a complete rubbish."

With that he pulled down his sleeve and cut into his skin with some charm. The blood immediately began to flow from that wound.

"Vampires don't bleed, Potter. They are dead, their hearts are not beating. You would know that if you paid some attention in the school," he said and this last note evoked a quiet laugh among the Aurors and also Umbridge who chuckled sweetly.

"Mr. Potter is obviously … confounded. He's talking nonsense, mentioning events that didn't even occur. Therefore, I assume that he … and his supporters are under You-Know-Who's influence or even under_ his _direct control. We will investigate this matter, once we've caught He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. First, we will call up reinforcements. The school must be secure within an hour. Potter and these two will stay here in this room until that time. If You-Know-Who has bewitched them, then we must treat them as a dangerous threat."

"I must protest! Potter cannot stay here. It's him who's in danger and who needs protection!" the Headmistress said in an accusatory tone.

"He won't need it if we catch You-Know-Who first," Umbridge retorted.

"You will not be able to catch He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named here, in this school. He knows this place better than anyone!"

"I dare to disagree with you, Minerva. I have the situation under control."

"Oh, really? Strange that I haven't noticed. And let me tell you, I'm the Headmistress of this school and I will not allow Potter's imprisonment in this...!"

"Ehm, ehm. If you've forgotten, Minerva, the school is under _my_ direct jurisdiction. You have very limited competences here so don't tell me what you will or won't allow me to do. My patience is running short," Umbridge said with her most infuriating tone and then turned to Negura.

"Leader, we need reinforcements. The teachers will protect the children and the rest of the adult staff will search for that murderer."

"The Order will not cooperate," McGonagall said icily.

"Showing me disloyalty again, Minerva?" Umbridge countered, her voice like sweet venom.

McGonagall said nothing to that, but her eyes met Harry's, carrying a clear message.

_Wait, we will get you out of here._ Then she turned on the spot and disappeared, followed by a very confused Professor Slughorn and two _suspicious_ Aurors, who were ordered by Umbridge to watch over Harry and his friends.

At that moment Harry realized that his plan didn't worked out. He failed to convince the rest of them that Negura was the enemy to fight against. Atleast they survived it and no one took away their wands, Harry thought.

"Leader?" Umbridge called at the freak from the door, waiting for him impatiently.

Negura didn't leave immediately. He walked around Harry towards the shelves, stopping in the middle of the room, looking around intently, sniffing like a hungry wolf. Few seconds later he turned around, his smirk gone along with his pleasantness. As he passed Harry, heading towards the exist, he whispered something to the youngster, his voice nearly inaudible.

"You will pay."

And then the door slammed closed behind him.

"Great," Harry breathed out, breaking the sudden silence. "I messed it up. We're locked here and Voldemort's gone."

Ron and Hermione, who stood beside him finally released breath they were holding all the time.

"He's gone?" Ron asked almost hopefully, looking around nervously.

"Yeah, my pockets are empty," Harry nodded, angry with himself.

"Let's find a way out of here too...," Hermione said quietly and then halted as a strange clapping sound reached their ears. All of them turned towards the source in a split second, pointing their enlightened wands at the intruder.

The poor imitation of an applause was coming from no one else but Lord Voldemort in his human – or mostly human – form. Harry could only stare in disbelief, Ron's wheezy breath told him that he was having a panic attack and the way Hermione took a step backward showed that she also wasn't thrilled by his presence.

"Bravo, Potter. I admit I liked your show. I really enjoyed Negura's frustration. I would watch it again," the tall wizard whispered coldly and straightened himself into his full height.

"What … what does it means? How could you..." Harry stuttered out in confusion.

"Surprised to see me like this? Or did you really think that I would spend the rest of my life as a _mouse_? Speaking of which, you would deserve a great torture for humiliating me like this if your idea didn't turn out to be very clever in the end. Negura couldn't smell me in that form. I would have to feel obliged if it was your intention, which, luckily, it wasn't," Riddle said grudgingly.

He took two steps closer towards Harry, which Ron and Hermione took as a sign of attack. Voldemort halted, watching them guardedly.

"Tell your _dear friends_ to lower their wands, before I'll make them regret their foolishness," he whispered coldly.

Harry seized Ron's wrist and gently pressed it down. When he was met with a disbelieving stare, he said.

"It's all right."

Then he stepped closer to Voldemort too.

"I assume that you have regained your powers already," he said cautiously.

"Not yet, Potter. What you see is a mere result of magic reversion," Riddle said in a displeased tone.

"Magic reversion? Meaning using the power in Harry's spell to revert its effects? This is a rare ability," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"Would you please stop admiring him, Hermione? It's really disgusting," Ron forced through his clenched throat.

"It's indeed disgusting to see a filthy mudblood having knowledge which should belong to wizarding families only. And what is even more disturbing is that those who are worthy of that knowledge are shockingly uneducated," Voldemort spoke coldly, glaring at Harry and Ron.

Harry, seeing Ron's furious reaction, quickly approached Voldemort and hissed.

"What do you want?"

"You, Potter," Riddle said and in his red eyes gleamed in the darkness.

For a second, Harry's knees buckled. Damn his treacherous body, that surely wasn't what Voldemort had on his mind.

"I need an escort to help me leave this school. With your luck it shouldn't be a problem," Riddle clarified.

"No. I won't leave my friends here alone," Harry said lowly. "Ron is one of Negura's priority targets."

"Bah, of course he is. Who wouldn't want to kill him?" The Dark Lord snorted venomously and Harry immediately woke from his infatuation.

"You cannot count on my assistance with your approach, Riddle. Why don't you rather find someone who doesn't mind your behavior?" he said and turned his back to him, which was a mistake.

Voldemort grabbed his arm and turned him forcefully back. As a result, he had the yew wand in his face.

"Release him … you … you monster!" Ron sputtered, crossing the distance in a flash to help Harry.

Voldemort, however, paid him no attention. He was only watching the raven-haired lad.

"You don't know what you've done, Potter. You've basically told Negura how much you know about him. It's you he's after now, not your _friend_. If you come with me you can escape him too."

"I won't leave my friends alone," Harry whispered again, his heart beating madly in his chest.

"In my current state, I can only deal with one wizard. If they come with us, Negura and the others will know that you're helping me," Riddle hissed quietly. "You must leave them here."

"Then I have to stay too," Harry said quietly.

"Potter!" Voldemort growled and let go of his arm, his fingers twitching in frustration.

"Harry," Hermione whispered quietly. "We can also be … you know … pursuing you," she suggested. "Wouldn't it be a solution we are looking for?"

Harry considered it for a moment and then looked at Ron, who was hesitant but inclined to accept it and then finally at Voldemort.

"Fine, we're coming," he said. "But first, what are we going to do with the Aurors who are standing at the guard?"

Voldemort's face was blank for few seconds, but then his pale lips curled into a dark smirk.

"Well, luckily there's another exit. Follow me."

**_R&R_**


	4. The Chase, part 2

**Author's note: **I know it's been a while since I updated this. For those who are in doubts, let me assure you that I'm **definitely not abandoning** this story. _I love it as much as you do._ I'm working on it whenever I have free time. I could possibly write shorter chapters and update more often like before. I just decided against it because I felt that you wouldn't be able to see the progress and the chapters would be missing their depth. You can however let me know which way you prefer. I will gladly contemplate it.

And now please enjoy The Chase, part II. Your reviews are always welcomed.

Rating of this chapter: **T**

As always, my special thanks belongs to my great beta: **TheSecretUchiha**

**xxxxx  
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**The Chase, part II **

**xxxxx  
**

Harry was naturally curious and also slightly sceptical when Voldemort briefly informed them about some mysterious jib door connecting the Slytherin's library with a system of secret corridors behind the walls. That was before the Dark Lord led them to a large stone block in the rear part of the old library, where the youngster could see the Slytherin's emblem - a silver serpent on a green field - embossed into the stone. When Voldemort spoke to it in Parseltongue Harry already knew what was going on. It had to be, without a doubt, another entrance to the Chamber of the Secret. He was certain of it when the block moved inside, revealing a dark passage large enough even for Voldemort to come through. Harry always found it a bit strange; how could Riddle possibly discover the entry into the Chamber from the girls' bathroom. Even as a Head Boy, there were certain places in Hogwarts where his presence was strictly prohibited.

"After you, Potter," Voldemort said as he turned to him, smirking slyly.

"No, Harry. L-let him go first," Ron spoke in a whiny tone, catching Harry's sleeve while looking inside the dark tunnel with trepidation. "What if there's another basilisk and he's leading us into a trap?"

Voldemort produced a short nasal sound, which Harry interpreted as a snort of disgust, and entered the dim, rounded corridor, disappearing from their sight.

"Look Ron," Harry said quietly. "If I have to decide between the Basilisk and Negura, then I prefer the snake, 'cause I already know how to kill it."

He patted Ron's shoulder lightly.

"I'm going in."

And he did as he said, entering the passage calmly and resolutely. The first thing which welcomed him inside was a sudden whiff of a chilling draught. It stole his body warmth, making him shudder. As he exhaled, a thin film of fog covered his glasses. He wiped the condensation onto his sleeve and pushed his specs back up his nose. His eyes began to accommodate to the decrease of light and soon Lord Voldemort's tall, black figure became apparent in the shadows. He stood approximately twenty feet from him, barely recognizable in that odd, soft-greenish illumination coming from some unspecified source ahead. His silky, black robes were billowing around him in the gusts of cold air, emphasizing his mysterious aura.

Harry stared at him for a while and Voldemort stared back in silence.

Then, Harry's feet began to move from their own accord, bringing him closer to the Dark Lord, whose gleaming, red eyes followed his every movement. As he drew nearer, Voldemort's pale face gradually became visible in the gloom. His skin appeared to have the quality of white alabaster, but Harry knew that it, in fact, felt more like a cool satin.

Those crimson eyes, which usually blazed with rampant hatred, seemed dulled and reminded Harry of mere glowing embers. Voldemort's fierce spirit was dampened by the crushing circumstances. But there was more in Riddle's stare beside the obvious. The Dark Lord wasn't just watching him; he was drinking in the sight of him. Harry could feel it like an inward pull. He couldn't get free and he didn't even want to.

Voldemort's thin, colourless lips soon became another source of Harry's fascination. They moved imperceptibly with every quick inhale he took, becoming drier and drier until he wet them distractedly. Harry watched breathlessly as that pink tongue darted out, slid against a thin upper lip, tracing its shape with precision.

_His tongue. _

It looked normal, human.

How would it feel if he could touch it with his own, if he could taste it, stroke it and play with it?

A rush of heat turned Harry's knees into jelly. He wanted to know … he wanted to try it so badly...

He looked down at his shoes, biting into his own tongue mercilessly.

"It's like being back in the cave again," he said throatily in an attempt to divert Voldemort's attention from his evident endeavour to puzzle out his thoughts.

It worked; the Dark Lord instantly hissed in discomfort.

"Indeed, Potter," he snapped moodily, walking past him down the corridor.

Harry inwardly swore.

"W- wait! We have to wait for Ron and Hermione. They're coming too!" he called after him.

The Dark Lord stopped only to glance over his shoulder.

"Shouldn't they be pursuing us?"

"Yeah, but what's the matter if we go together? Honestly, what's the chance of someone catching us down here?"

"Harry...!"

The young man immediately turned, following the sound of Hermione's voice and then back at Riddle who hissed acidly.

"There's a great chance if your _friends_ continue to be so loud and undisciplined. Remember, Potter, Negura is a vampire. He has perfect hearing."

Voldemort didn't wait for his reply and left when Harry's friends got too close. His desire to stay away from them was blatant. Harry didn't understand (though he was secretly glad for it) why he didn't treat him the same. It probably didn't have any deeper meaning, but for Harry, who was unconsciously, yet desperately seeking any form of attention from him, it meant a lot.

"Harry," Ron spoke to him, making him jump a little in dismay.

"What took you so long?" Harry asked a bit resentfully.

"The entrance closed itself just as we passed through," his friend explained in a nervous voice. "We can't go back."

"It's not that bad. Negura can't follow us," Harry said quietly. "Listen, we've lost too much time in here. Let's follow Voldemort and stay as quiet as possible. If we get lost or caught then we would..."

"Harry, I don't mean to interrupt you like this but ... I don't see anything good about this," Ron said hesitantly. "How can we be sure that he's leading us where we think he's leading us?"

"You-Know-Who's first priority is to stay alive, Ron," Hermione spoke in a soft, yet resolute voice. "He won't try to deceive us without a good reason."

Ron looked astounded. "Hermione! It's You-Know-Who we're talking about, if you've forgotten!"

"What I meant is that he won't try to deceive us _now_," she corrected herself. "There is however another problem which we'll have to deal with once we're in the second floor girl's bathroom."

Harry bit into his lower lip. His whole mouth hurt from the constant biting, but he could help it. He was just about to develop an allergic reaction to that word.

"What problem?" he asked in a slightly exasperated tone.

"A problem called Moaning Myrtle," Hermione explained.

"She's just a ghost so why should she cause us any trouble?" Ron whispered, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Yes, she is a ghost indeed; but remember, who murdered her?"

At that point both boys fell silent.

"I didn't think it through very far," she admitted, which was rare of her. "I had to hide our things somewhere and I chose that bathroom because no one usually goes there. I expected that I would be able to retrieve it without Myrtle seeing anyone of you – especially not _him_. But now when we are probably going to emerge in the entrance to the Chamber of Secret with You-Know-Who among us... Honestly, can you imagine Myrtle's reaction? Her scream is going to bring the castle to ruins!"

"Damn," Harry cursed. "You're right. We have to think of something..."

"We'd better avoid the school's corridors too, especially if Negura's searching the school through and through. Using a different exit to reach the bathroom as I planned it out is also out of the question," Hermione continued in a quiet voice. "But there's another way."

"What way?" Ron asked hopefully.

"It's not a secret that Myrtle likes you, Harry. She likes you a lot," Hermione said with a small smile. "If you could – let's say – keep her full attention for a while, I could retrieve the bag and lend You-Know-Who the invisibility cloak. Then we could escape from the bathroom without her making a scene."

"Merlin'sbeard! You want to lend _You-Know-Who_ the invisibility cloak? Are you sure this is a good idea? Seriously, he's not going to give it back! You'd better turn him into a mouse again, Harry," Ron suggested.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "Regardless of his promise, he would kill me if I did it again. Hermione's right, Ron. Let's lend him the cloak. He won't try to escape without his wand," he said and raised the yew wand a bit. Ron just rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "I seriously doubt that I can fool Myrtle. She can be very suspicious."

"Oh, I'm sure you can do it," Ron chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing from one dark conduit to the next as they passed them in rush. "Girls are crazy about you, Harry. Even the dead ones."

"Thanks a lot, Ron," Harry said ironically and shook his head. "I'm going to tell Riddle about the plan."

"Be careful, Harry." Hermione said quietly.

"Yeah, and ask _him_ about the Basilisk. We should know ahead if he wants us dead and eaten," Ron added.

Harry shook his head again and then bolted after the Dark Lord.

He caught up with in a minute and asked breathlessly.

"Where are we?"

For his bold announcement of his presence he received a quick glare. Surprisingly, Voldemort took the trouble to answer him shortly afterwards.

"Obviously in the conduit system which Salazar Slytherin built for the Basilisk to freely move inside the castle. Recently, they're occasionally used as water pipes, but they weren't designed for that purpose. Magicians don't need water distribution, Potter. They can easily conjure whatever amount of water they need whenever they need it."

That wasn't exactly what Harry wanted to know. He would appreciate learning about their location, not about how Slytherin planned to murder all muggleborns in the school. In the end, the most important information Harry found in the answer was that Voldemort didn't try to lower his voice, which probably meant the risk of them being discovered was smaller than before.

"Oh right, water pipes," Harry said quietly. "Giving these tunnels such an innocuous name is probably better than to call them what they really are - Basilisk tubes. Thinking of which, have you brought a new _pet_into the castle? You've been in control of Hogwarts for nearly a whole year, if I'm correct."

Harry only asked this to clear Ron's doubts about a new monster residing in the castle. He wasn't prepared to hear anything else beside a 'no'.

"Actually yes, I did," the Dark Lord said coldly, smoothing wrinkles on his robes. "I was certain that sooner or later mudbloods would want to come back."

His blunt statement caused that Harry tripped over. He also choked on his saliva and spent a couple of seconds coughing it out of his windpipe.

"S ... so it is in the Chamber of Secrets now?" he finally asked, his voice strained in apprehension. No matter what he told Ron, he wasn't prepared to fight a Basilisk again, especially without Fawkes' help.

"No, it's dead. That stupid half-giant killed it," Voldemort snapped irritatedly, casting a quick glare at Harry.

"Hagrid? Hagrid killed the Basilisk?-!"

Harry gasped for breath again, gaping at the Dark Lord disbelievingly.

"Yes, Potter! But don't think that it was some kind of heroic deed on his side," the older wizard whispered virulently and clenched his fists in anger. "It happened three years ago when Snape was still a Headmaster. I brought him the Basilisk's egg, which I obtained by a lucky chance. They are incredibly rare because Basilisks usually refuse to mate*. I told Snape to treat it as a child, with great caution and care. It didn't occur to me that he would give it to that ultimate moron, who somehow gained the impression that it was a dragon's egg. That idiot put it into a cauldron and _boiled it_. Luckily for him, he missed my subsequent visit. I felt very malicious at the time."

Harry tried to keep his face even. He really tried, but who could blame him that he eventually broke into laughter?

Voldemort failed to see how humorous that story was because he seethed in rage at Harry's outburst. The youngster's attempts to stifle his mirth had a minimal effect. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks as he fought new eruptions of laughter.

As a result, the Dark Lord was tremendously bad-tempered again, while Ron and Hermione who caught up with them just a moment later looked flabbergasted.

"Who … who would have thought … that ruling over Hogwarts … can be so difficult?" Harry said between hiccups, trying hard to be serious again, but the damned corners of his lips still twitched upwards. He just loved the way Hagrid got revenge for being unjustly kicked out of the school. He probably did it completely unintentionally.

"Laughing in my face, Potter?" Voldemort sneered nastily. "Just how many borders do you think I'll let you cross with your outrageous impudence?"

The Dark Lord's robes whirled as he spun around, striding away stiffly.

"Wait! Tom...!" Harry called after him, but Riddle didn't look at him this time and Harry felt suddenly hurt.

"He's mad at me," he muttered, downcast.

"Why does it surprise you, buddy? He's always mad at everything. He's completely nuts," Ron said quietly, dropping his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"But, honestly, can you tell us what was that about? Why were you laughing so much? It was a bit … disturbing to see you so cheerful beside _him_."

Harry sighed as he watched Riddle turn the corner and finally looked at his friend.

"Er- nothing, Ron. It was just a funny story. The important thing is that you can calm down, there's no Basilisk waiting for us in these corridors," Harry said, gathering himself. "However, let me warn however, if Hagrid ever offers you an egg sandwich. I suggest to kindly decline it as you would probably find it inedible. Oh, and one more thing: don't say 'Basilisk's egg' when Voldemort's around. He might become very furious without an apparent reason."

"I won't, don't worry. Still, I don't think that You-Know-Who would ever make me laugh, no matter howhumorous a story he told," Ron said with distaste.

"Apparently, he thought the same about me," Harry replied quietly.

Ron wasn't mollified. He continued to grumble for himself and Hermione, who was until that moment unusually silent, took the opportunity and quickly mouthed few words, making sure that Harry would understand her.

"You looked so happy," she said without a sound.

The remaining shred of Harry's previous elation was gone in that second. She could see right through him as always. He wasn't doing a good job hiding his feelings. According to Hermione's reaction, he was still being painfully obvious. His heart shrank in his chest as if some invisible hand squeezed it.

"Anyway," she spoke aloud. "Did you tell him about our plan?"

Harry tripped up again, losing his balance in a second and muttering a juicy swear word right after that.

"Damn … I … I forgot."

He didn't wait to see his friend's surprised gazes and sprinted after the receding Dark Lord again.

xxxxx

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_27__th__December 2000, 1:17 _

He had been imprisoned, supervised by Nestor Desalmado for hours and hours.

Draco cherished the fleeting moment of freedom he was given. He never thought that merely walking down a corridor alone could bring such a relief. He feared returning, he thought he might have reached the brink of his endurance. But he couldn't escape; Negura sealed his fate when he took away his wand.

Desalmado told him that it was his own fault. As a Death Eater, he represented a huge threat to the new system which Umbridge established. Draco decided to call it a system of 'average-ness' for he couldn't find a more suitable term.

Mudbloods were gradually being restricted again for they would soon be classedas 'unnatural existences'. What a funny thing to called them. When the Dark Lord was the ruler, they were pitiful thieves of magic. Half-bloods as 'the average group' mostly fulfilled Umbridge's requirements. The last group, purebloods, was probably the most problematic category. Some of them stayed privileged, the others were unwanted.

But the most absurd thing was that the Death Eaters were sorted among the scum. _They were treated worse __than Mudbloods._ Those of the Death Eaters who committed no serious crime (Draco could only think of only two or three of them) were outcast from the magical community and the same fate went for each and every one of the Dark Lord's supporters. The rest of them were being hunted and killed by Aurors. Yes, the Minister ordered the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to stop chasing vampires and focus on killing purebloods instead. It was entirely sickening. And Draco could only suffer it for he was stuck in here. Without his wand, he couldn't really do anything.

Every minute spent in Negura's presence threatened to drive him crazy. Desalmado, his _supervisor_, was no better. The constant creepy stares would break even the toughest guy.

At this point, the only thing that kept him sane was the thought of getting out of here by some miracle. He had to find his mother. They would flee together and never come back.

That would surely make Desalmado happy. The freak openly desired his position as Negura's plaything. He probably wanted it so much that he wouldn't hesitate to deceive his Leader to get it. It was something Draco couldn't imagine ever doing to the Dark Lord. He didn't understand why was everyone here so obsessed with Negura. What was so special about him, beside his magic? Draco didn't see anything. He only knew that he hated him, that stinking murderer who killed his father.

His thoughts returned to his mother again. He didn't know where she was, had no idea where to look for her. Maybe he should begin searching here, in the Ministry. What if she was already caught and turned into a vampire just like his father was?

Negura needed a new army, he heard him saying that. His servants were outside, each searching for someone redundant and dispensable, someone who was alone and easy to overpower.

His mother was alone. Draco's throat began to burn when her face was replaced by the grimace of his dying father. He made a quick decision. No matter how risky it was, he was going to visit the Atrium. The captives and soon to be victims were being sorted there,like cattle before a slaughter. If his mother was one of them by any chance, he was going to use his influence as Negura's godson. He was going to find her and save her.

Several minutes later, he reached his destination. So far, no one was asking questions, no one was trying to stop him. Even the vampires stayed off, though they were watching him as if he were a walking snack.

Draco stopped by a robust pillar at the entrance. He leaned against it, faking ease. The Atrium was nearly empty, only four vampires stood by the fountain, probably waiting for the 'sorting'. Draco suppressed a gag reflex and looked away.

A couple of minutes later he saw them coming. More than a dozen people; he couldn't count them so quickly. He also couldn't see their faces properly through the darkness.

They were much closer now; soon they would be passing him. Draco was nearly panicking; why couldn't they look up so he could see their faces? Why were all of them staring at the ground, walking in silence? Were they bewitched? What kind of wizard would do that? Negura? Hardly, he wasn't even here.

And then he caught sight of a blond strand. His heartbeat faltered for a second as he realized that he had just missed a chance to look into his or her face. If it was his mother... Draco's hand curled into a fist. Finally he saw the wizard who brought them here. He watched that horrible traitor, leading these people to death. His instincts were screaming at him to attack. It wasn't his style, he always tried to avoid direct conflict, but under these circumstances he would not back off.

The wizard passed him and Draco assaulted him from behind. They collided and fell on the floor. The man was so surprised he nearly dropped his wand. Draco reached for it quickly, but he missed it by a fraction of an inch.

At least he managed to pull down the wizard's cape and look into his face.

The shock was so great that his fierce grasp slackened a little.

He wasn't prepared to see that face.

He couldn't believe that he was looking at ... Percy Weasley.

xxxxx

_Hogwarts_

_27__th__ December 2000, 0:35 _

"Myrtle?"

Harry scrambled up from the wet and slippery tunnel, sweeping the dirt from his knees.

"Myrtle?" He repeated, surveying the gloomy bathroom quickly.

No one replied him. He could only hear someone's scream and quick steps coming from the corridor outside the room.

And then a distinct sound of a flushing toilet a couple of feet away from him.

"Myrtle … are you in there?" he asked nervously, coming a bit closer.

Again, no answer. Harry nervously looked over his shoulder, but Ron, Hermione and also Voldemort were still hiding down in the 'water pipe'. Hopefully, they wouldn't kill each other in the meantime.

He took another step towards the toilet, rolling the wand in his hand nervously. The running water could only mean that...

"Hello Harry!"

Harry jumped a feet high and yelped in surprise.

He spun around, standing face to face to the floating image of a dark-haired, bespectacled girl.

"Hello Myrtle," he said once he caught his breath. "You look … er … fine."

"Just fine?" she squeaked, the corners of her mouth dropping instantly .

"Eh … eh … no! Much more than fine. I mean … you look … gorgeous … as always," Harry stuttered out a terrible lie, gesturing wildly to stop her from whimpering and wailing. To his great relief, her face immediately began to brighten up.

"Oh Harry, you've come to see me at last…" She smiled sheepishly and tugged at one of her ponytails, combing it with her translucent fingers. "Let's sit down … and talk," she suggested with a snicker.

"Sure, why not?" Harry said with a forceful smile. "Just … would you mind if we go over there?" He couldn't tell her that from their current viewpoint she would be able to see everyone coming from the entrance to the Chamber.

"Because the moonlight makes your face … really pretty," he came up with a quick lie while receding towards the window in the farthest corner.

Once there, Harry plopped down on the bench and she sat beside him, giggling quietly. He was quiet. He knew he should lavish her with compliments, but his mind was completely blank. Fortunately, she spoke first.

"It's been so long since you've last come to see me, Harry," she sighed, looking at him longingly.

"I'm really sorry, Myrtle. It's just ... I'm no longer a student. You can't expect me to come here very often."

"Oh … the time's running so fast for those who are alive," she whimpered. "If you died here, Harry, everything would be so much better. We could be together … forever."

She laid her head on his shoulder, making herself comfortable.

"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" she said dreamily.

"Who knows, you might get lucky soon enough," Harry ground through his teeth, praying silently for Hermione to hurry up.

"Tell me, Harry, have you come back because you were missing me?" she asked when a new idea occurred to her.

"Absolutely. I was missing you … so very much," Harry nodded, exerting himself to suppress the sarcasm which began to seep into his voice. He gulped idly to hide the tick in the left corner of his mouth. He forced another smile on his lips, which looked completely unnatural – at least from his point of view. Myrtle was still beaming with happiness.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed again, her hand falling through Harry's leg. Harry found it very unpleasant and tried not to squirm too much.

"Tell me, Harry," she said playfully, circling one of the buttons of his shirt with her finger. "What were you doing in that dreadful Chamber again? I heard you come out of there."

Harry quickly thought of some clever excuse. He didn't want to make a mistake by telling an obvious lie, so he tried to modify the truth a bit.

"I was looking for Voldemort. He's on the run, hiding somewhere in the castle."

She gasped for breath she didn't needed anymore and covered her mouth with her palm. Harry took it as a sign that she was going to scream and quickly exclaimed.

"No, no no!You don't need to worry! There's no reason to panic because..."

She wailed and whimpered, flying up above him and then furiously around him.

"There's no need to panic because I'm already dead! That's what you wanted to say, right?-!" she screeched and wailed again.

Harry's blood nearly froze in his veins after hearing it.

"No, Myrtle! Listen!" he yelped at her, jumping up. "All I wanted to say is that there's no reason to panic because...," he browsed the possibilities in a rush and picked the worst one, "because I'm here to protect you!"

She stopped her maddening swirls that instant.

Her eyes grew wide, glimmering with happiness again.

"Oh … no one has ever tried to protect me before," she whispered, her face suddenly very close to his.

"Harry … you are so..."

Harry was petrified. She was coming closer and closer and all he could do was stare at her and let her do whatever she wanted. He didn't want to be kissed by a ghost. Even the thought of it felt gross. Why did these things always happen to him?

"Harry?"

Harry quickly turned after the call, missing her incorporeal lips by a fraction of an inch. His friends, who called at him, stood by the entrance; Ron was smirking and Hermione's lips were twitching too. Harry bristled. The only thing which stopped him from sputtering at them was Hermione, who was holding the travelling bag. So his mission was successful after all.

"Who are they?" Myrtle hissed in anger. "What do they want?"

"They're my friends, Myrtle, remember? They're helping me find Vol..."

A cold, invisible hand squeezed his throat all of a sudden.

"**_Unnecessary, Potter. I'm standing right behind you,"_** a soft, icy voice hissed into his ear.

And then, he was being forcefully dragged towards the door.

"We are in a hurry, Myrtle. See you … later...," Harry managed to choke out before he was pushed out of the room. Hermione and Ron quickly followed them and soon the bathroom's large doors separated them from Myrtle's moaning. Still, Harry could hear her wailing through the wall.

"Good job, Harry," Hermione breathed out. "She ate right out of your hand."

Harry rubbed his neck, where he still felt imprints of Voldemort's fingers. He watched him shed the cloak and step aside from them as if they were highly infectious.

"You see, I told you. He didn't even have to try that hard," Ron muttered nervously. He probably meant it as a joke, but the shock of seeing Voldemort again gave his voice a grave undertone.

"If you think so," Harry shrugged. "The important thing is that we've made it so far. Now, let's decide our next course of action..."

"You don't know yet, Potter? I thought you had a _plan_," Riddle sneered at him. Harry was taken aback by the fiery agitation in his voice and gleaming gaze.

"What's your problem? I don't hear you coming up with any clever ideas," he answered back.

"I think you're stalling on the purpose, Potter. Deep inside you want Negura to catch me and kill me. Your flirting with that dead mudblood showed your priorities. I just wish I didn't have to witness that most disgusting act of blood-treachery."

"You bastard!" Harry raised his voice as the words cut deep into him. "I was doing that only because of you!"

He pointed his finger at him and snarled. "You know what?-! If this is what you think of me, then give me back my cloak and _go_! You don't have suffer my company!"

Harry's steaming anger took Voldemort by surprise. People around him probably didn't express their emotions so wildly. He didn't answer – and didn't even leave. He just glared back at Harry, silent.

"Harry," Hermione said, distracting him from his frenzy. "Don't forget that Negura's reinforcements are coming here. Before they arrive, Negura won't be able to track all the secret passages, if any. We could use the one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy and once we're at the castle grounds, we could escape through the passage beneath the Whomping Willow."

Her soft voice had an amazing calming effect on Harry. He took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea..."

Ron gasped. "But that passage leads to...!"

"Potter...," Voldemort hissed but Harry interrupted him.

"We all know where it leads, okay?"

He turned back to Hermione.

"Why did you suggest the Shrieking Shack, Hermione?" he asked urgently. Something was telling him that they should hurry up.

"It used to be Lupin's hideout. Vampires are naturally repulsed by werewolf's smell, we should be safe in there for some time," Hermione quickly explained.

"Potter!" Voldemort snarled again.

"That house is haunted!" Ron protested. "They say that a black-clad person walks around it at midnight and then disappears inside! It's Snape, Harry! I _really_ don't want to see him again!"

Harry doubted it. In his opinion, Snape was too brave to become a ghost.

"We have to choose a hiding place. If the Shack is the best at the moment then we should go there," he decided and glanced at Voldemort. Even if it was Snape who was haunting it, the only one who should be really afraid of him was Tom.

"Potter!" he hissed furiously. "You fool...!"

His face was stiff, his mouth jerked violently and spasmodically at one corner. And the old wound on his neck was bleeding. Harry's heart plummeted through his stomach at the realization. He knew who was causing this. It was Negura; they ran out of time.

"He's here...," he breathed out it terror.

"What?" Ron asked in confusion.

"The vampire..." Harry choked out. "Run..."

Ron froze and Hermione's face turned ashen.

"RUN!" Harry roared and they did.

They sprinted blindly; regardless of what corridor they chose. They hadn't seen anyone yet, knowing that if they did, it would be too late.

"We have to split up," Harry heard Hermione's breathless voice.

She was correct, Harry remembered that if the worst happened, they must not be caught together.

"Turn left and meet us in five minutes by the statue," he yelped back at her, following the Dark Lord who picked the route to the right.

"Harry, no!" he heard Ron's yell from behind. He could only hope that Hermione would be able to hold him back and make him follow the plan.

He and Voldemort reached the corridor leading to the classroom where Harry used to take Transfiguration lessons. It was blocked, someone was running after them from the other side. Harry felt Voldemort grasp his collar and forced him to change the direction. Then, a huge blast of light blinded Harry's eyes for a couple of seconds. Someone send a curse after them and missed Harry's head by few inches. He gave all he could into his sprint and before the next turning he glanced back, seeing six people pursuing them. He didn't have time to check whether Negura was among them.

"Kill them, Potter!" Voldemort, who was just slightly ahead of him, snarled.

"No!" Harry gasped.

"For Salazar's sake kill them, you brat, or we're dead!"

"I said no!" Harry snapped back and turned to hex the pursuers.

"_Impedimenta!"_

The flare enlightened the corridor and Harry suddenly saw him. Negura was already gaining on them, raising the wand too.

"_Sectumsempra!"_ Harry screamed just as the vampire cut the distance to mere twenty feet.

The curse ineffectively blasted against the wall and Harry nearly went to his knees to avoid a flash which Negura sent back.

"NO!"

Harry heard someone's desperate scream from behind.

"STOP IT! STOP IT! IT'S POTTER!"

Harry's throat was on fire, his legs were turning heavier and heavier. He glanced over his shoulder again, seeing the vampire close, too close to them. He could even see his smirk as he mouthed a curse. Harry raised his hand to cast the Shield Charm, but he was too slow. The blast hit the underside of his arm with full force.

Harry screamed in pain; his arm felt like being stabbed by a molten blade. Blood immediately gushed out of the wound and the next second his shirt was soaking wet from the warm, sticky liquid.

Negura was now within his reach. Harry could see the victorious gleam in his eyes.

And then the monster was forced to turn around as someone's curse hit his back. He was being attacked by one of the pursuers. Harry didn't have a chance to discover who was it as Voldemort was suddenly right beside him, throwing the invisibility cloak over him and pushing him to the wall. Harry only heard a soft snap of some lever and then he fell through narrow doors which appeared out of nowhere.

They heavily fell on the cold floor and the doors closed behind them with another quick snap.

Harry was in shock.

He knew somehow that he was bleeding from the artery and that he had to stop it before he fainted. The problem was that he couldn't bring himself to move. His body refused to respond, as if he'd forgotten how to use his muscles. He only shook in wild tremors, pitiful sounds were escaping his lips and his eyes were seeing nothing beside crazy revolving patterns.

And then he felt that he was being dragged and someone made him sit. He also heard a voice, however he was unable to understand the meaning of words over the buzz in his ears.

"Potter!"

Someone snarled his name.

Harry focused on the face before him and managed to recognize Voldemort. He spoke to him again and this time Harry listened and understood.

"Breathe! Don't swoon!" he saw the pale mouth bark orders at him.

Harry did as he was told, forcing the air into his lungs. The surroundings cleared a bit and Harry began to feel a new pain coming from the junction between his neck and shoulder. It was a result of vicious pressure Voldemort was applying a spot under his collarbone, he realized.

Riddle's other hand seized Harry's healthy arm, where he still clutched the wand. He pressed the wand's tip against the wound and spoke insistently.

"_Remedium hexia._ Say it, Potter."

Harry gasped for breath. The room began to spin wildly.

"I … I … can't..."

"Say it! _Remedium hexia_!"

The biting voice was cutting through the mist which began to obscure to his senses.

"Re … reme..."

No, he couldn't speak anymore, he was too tired.

"SAY IT!"

"_Remedium hex … Remedium hexia_," Harry muttered.

"AGAIN!"

"_Remedium hexia_."

"Again! Repeat it!"

"_Remedium hexia, remedium hexia, remedium … hexia..._"

Harry was saying it over and over again, and the pain in his arm began to gradually subside until it finally disappeared.

"That's enough."

Harry opened his eyes. His eyelids still felt a bit heavy, but it was great to see the surroundings steady and clear. He looked up, gazing into two glowing embers which stared back at him from Voldemort's porcelain white face. Harry straightened his back, breathing in deeply. He propped his head against the wall, concentrating on the fact that Voldemort was straddling him, sitting on his thighs. Harry was almost happy he didn't have a normal amount of blood in his system, otherwise his body would react in a way which would be hard to overlook. As long as he was anemic, he only had to suppress a soft moan.

The hands which rested his shoulders tightened their grasp on his shirt for a second. Harry took a glance at the unusually pale hands, which were dirty from his drying blood.

"It's your lucky day today," he finally whispered. "You've always wanted this - to have my blood on your hands - haven't you?"

Voldemort, seeing that Harry was responsive and even attempting to be funny in the most pitiful way, got up and graciously took a step aside.

"Lucky day you say," he sneered. His face however lacked resentment.

"My survival solely depends on one reckless teenager, whose limited knowledge and poor fighting skills cannot offer me any protection. I fail to see my luck, Potter."

"Firstly," Harry said as he scrambled on his feet as well. "I'm twenty, my teenage years are over. Secondly, I fought _you_ several times and I always survived it!"

Voldemort snorted.

"If you're so _great_ then what was that right now?"

"Look, just because I refuse to kill people, it doesn't make me a bad fighter," Harry said, making Voldemort snort again.

"I admit that I'm not a great one either. Negura is a completely different league. But it's doesn't mean that I will let him do whatever he wants! I won't let him terrorize and murder my friends!" Harry said and then lowered his voice. "I admit that I was too slow this time. You saved me again, Tom. Thank you."

Voldemort turned to him, outraged. His eyes flashed dangerously and he opened his mouth to say something but was prevented by Harry's warm embrace.

Harry buried his face into the hard chest, enjoying the feeling of warmth seeping through the silky robes.

"I swear I won't let him terrorize and murder my friends," he repeated, his voice drowned by the clothes. "Not even you."

He inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar smell. Voldemort fell silent. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine and Harry, who was pressed against him, could feel it. It made his head spin again.

"Potter?"

Harry expected a much more forceful rebuff.

He removed his face from the robes, feeling a bit tipsy. He spoke without thinking, his voice deep and sultry.

"I wonder … have you ever desired something completely forbidden, Tom? Something forbidden even to you, the Dark Lord? Is there even such a thing?"

Voldemort didn't answer immediately. Harry had to gather his courage and look up into his gleaming, red eyes first.

"Even if there is such a thing, I would certainly not tell you."

Riddle's reply was short, his voice displaying formerly unknown tension. He extracted himself from Harry's hold, turning away from him.

"You'd better pull yourself together, Potter," he said coldly. "We aren't any closer to escape than we were half an hour ago."

If he was right about one thing, then it was Harry's bad timing. The young man realized this too and decided to change that.

"Right," he said, shaking his head. "You're right. Let's find my friends. They must be terrified that we didn't come to our meeting point."

"First of all, Potter, get rid of that blood on your clothes … and I shall do the same. I don't want Negura to smell us for miles." He finally turned his head towards Harry again. "The kitchen is downstairs."

They reached it within a minute and Harry went inside first, keeping the wand ready. Fortunately, his precaution proved to be unnecessary, because the room was rather empty. Only several house-elves were present, working on preparation of breakfast. The rest were probably doing the cleaning in the Houses.

Once the house-elves noticed his presence, they ran towards him, beaming at him, bowing. Their smiles, however, fell from their small faces once they saw Voldemort behind him.

"Er... Hi, can I talk to Kreacher?" Harry said with a strained voice.

Just as he said that name a small, scrawny house-elf with a bulbous nose and bloodshot eyes appeared before him with a soft pop.

"How can Kreacher serve the Master?" he croaked, bowing deeply.

"Kreacher, I need your help. Go find Ron and Hermione. Once you find them, come back immediately and tell me whether the people from the Ministry managed to catch them or not. Don't speak to anyone until you return."

Just as Harry finished, Kreacher bowed to him again and disappeared.

Harry looked at the rest of the house-elves, who were regarding him curiously.

"Do you think you can help me clean this up?" he asked and pointed at his bloodied sleeve.

He didn't expect their eager reaction. The next moment he was buried under their small bodies. Each of the house-elves was carrying some scrub or towel, rubbing and washing off the stains from his hand and cloths. They were finished within a few moments and Harry appreciatively admitted that his shirt was as good as new.

"Thanks," he said and they bowed deeply and hurried to hide beneath the tables.

Harry first wondered why, but then it occurred to him, that they were still stressed by Voldemort's presence.

Thinking of him, he realized he hadn't seen him for a short while. Growing curious, Harry went to the fireplace situated in the farther part of the kitchen, where he thought he could see his tall figure. It was indeed Voldemort and he was dining … or having a very early breakfast. Harry finally perceived why Voldemort wanted to come here. It didn't occur to him before but Riddle had to be thirsty and starving.

Now he was presented with a very interesting spectacle. It was unusual to see someone eat so fast and yet maintain his dignified manners. He missed seeing him eat. Voldemort on the other hand wasn't thrilled that he was being watched.

"I cannot regain my magical power without any source of energy, Potter," he spoke coldly, glowering at him for his curious stare.

"I understand," Harry nodded. "I'll pack some extra food for you."

He conjured a small bag and began to stuff it with basic supplies. He regretted that he hadn't learned Hermione's undetectable extension charm yet. It would be really handy at the moment. His bag was nearly full when Kreacher reappeared before him.

"Kreacher found them just as Master ordered," he rasped out, wheezing. "They are looking for Master. They are desperate to find Master."

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said quickly. "Have you seen anyone from the Ministry? The Leader? Umbridge?"

"No, Kreacher hasn't seen them."

"Thank you. I have one more request for you … if you don't mind."

"Kreacher is very happy to serve his Master any time he wants," the house-elf muttered, gazing up adoringly.

"Good. Can you take me … take us … to them?"

"Kreacher will do anything his Master asks."

"Okay, do it, please."

Harry gestured towards Voldemort who was clearly displeased, yet reluctantly came closer.

"Time to get out of here," Harry said and handed him the bag with food and invisibility cloak. He seized his hand, reaching out with the other for the elf.

The moment he touched it the world spun around him and in the next second they stood in a large, dark classroom.

Harry looked around and gasped for breath.

At least a dozen of wands were pointing at them.

**_R&R_**

**Author's note:** * Basilisk is usually born from a chicken's egg hatched beneath a toad. - Harry Potter Wiki

**_"speech in Parseltongue"_**


	5. Negura's tale

**Author's note: **What else can I say beside my usual thanks to all my regular reviewers and all the readers who will find this chapter worth at least a short comment (a constructive criticism is beneficial for every author). Thank you.

**TheSecretUchiha** kindly betaed this chapter.

Rating of this chapter: **T**/M

xxxxx

**Negura's tale**

_xxxxx_

_Hogwarts_

_27__th__ December 2000, 1:00 _

xxxxx

It all happened too fast. Before Harry could fully become aware of their iffy situation, they were attacked. The youngster ducked his head as he saw a red blast of a Stunning spell rushing to him, followed by a couple of nasty hexes.

Lord Voldemort slipped out of his clutch and moved forth. He avoided the curses with an admirable grace, then jumped impossibly high, far above human limits, crossing the row of people who encircled them easily. And that was the last Harry saw of him.

Then the screams came. Loud, furious, and desperate. Harry crouched down and covered his ears, thinking fast. Was it his friends or foes? He couldn't start the fight without knowing who they were and in this darkness and chaos surrounding him he could never be sure.

As his eyes roamed over the silhouette figures, he spotted the house-elf disappearing in the closest shadow. Harry's feverish thoughts briefly considered the possibility that Kreacher betrayed him. It irked him greatly that he couldn't think of a single reason why would he do that. Frankly, if he didn't make himself a perfect target, Harry would simply cast _Lumos_ and take a good look at the people around. Maybe he would be surprised to see who he was facing.

In the end, he didn't have to do anything. The surrounding clamour was drowned by Hannah's sudden high pitched scream. Her desperate cry of Neville's name a second later was the only confirmation Harry needed. It was his friends indeed, yet Harry's relief was only brief, drowned by his worries of Neville, who was probably facing some kind of a mortal peril. If only his heavy legs stopped refusing to abide to his will and actually allowed him to walk instead of staggering around like a drunk. The inevitable finally happened and he tripped and fell, hitting his head hard. His glasses softly chinked against the cold marble, making him wonder how he could hear it over the screams and drumming noise in his head.

"Harry! Harry!"

Fast steps approached him and then a soft hand touched his right cheek and helped him roll over on his back.

It was Hermione. She put his spectacles back on his nose and her fingers slid to his hurt temple and touched it tentatively. Harry tried to sit up but she held him down with a gentle press of her hand against his chest.

"We... we didn't recognize you at first... We thought it's Negura attacking us … and then it turned out to be You-Know-Who which is … you know ... just as bad," she said shakily. Harry tried to shift onto his elbows but she stopped him again.

"Wait a moment-," she whispered and raised the wand.

"_Episkey!_"

Harry was grateful for that instant relief from pain.

"Thanks...," he muttered. Before he could say more, a pair of stronger hands appeared out of nowhere, seized him and helped him to sit up.

"Harry! Quickly! He's got Neville!"

Ron's freckled face came into Harry's field of vision. The colour of his skin appeared to be grey under the faint moonlight coming through the large windows, but his blue eyes, which were dilated in apprehension bordering with panic, remained vivid as always.

"Who … who's got Neville?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Ron just urgently pointed towards one distant corner, refusing to say any name. Harry didn't see anything there, even though some people nearby had already lit up their wands. He only recognized Lee's, George's and Luna's faces from the profile. Beside the younger members of the Order he also noticed some Gryffindor students. A few of them were dressed in pyjamas, the others were still wearing school uniforms. But Harry's attention was somewhere else as his brain finally made the important connections. He got up fast and once he found the balance, he squeezed himself through the half-circle formed around the source of commotion.

To say that Harry was surprised by the sight which was presented to him would be a lie. He already expected to see the Dark Lord and wasn't disappointed. Apparently, that glamorous serpentine bastard could only miraculously disappear when he was in possession of his wand and magic. As he currently had none of that, he was still here, hiding in a somewhat undignified manner behind Neville. However, no one could say that his hunched pose diminished the terror which his mere presence evoked in the bystanders.

Harry noticed that those fiery eyes were searching the room, looking for something intently. Then their gazes met and it was one of the most accusative stares Harry ever had a misfortune to be put under. Hoping to find an escape route from the glare, Harry quickly chose to look at Riddle's captive and snarled quietly once he identified the object which the Dark Lord held against Neville's throat. It was a kitchen knife which Voldemort most likely stole several moments ago when Harry was busy with the house-elves.

Harry looked back into those scorching eyes, noticing for the first time the distress barely hidden behind the transparent haze of detestation. The Dark Lord was cornered and therefore immensely dangerous. Harry didn't doubt that he wouldn't hesitate to slice Neville's throat if it helped him through this in any way.

He firmly decided to prevent it no matter what. Harry was certain that there had to be some non-violent solution. If he found a way to prevent this conflict, everyone could survive it.

He took a deep breath to calm himself a little and looked over his shoulder at the dozen of pale, agitated faces and quietly spoke.

"Lower your wands."

To demonstrate his intentions, he took the yew wand into his other hand and tucked it into his back pocket.

He could feel how their incredulous stares burned holes into the back of his skull as he turned back to Voldemort.

"Just lower them," he said in the same calm, persuasive tone, while keeping the eye contact with the Dark Lord intact.

"But Harry..."

"_Please_!"

He shot a glance at them, hoping that his imploring voice would make them listen.

After a short hesitation, Hermione was the first to follow his example. Ron did the same just a couple of seconds later and then one after one, the remaining wands declined.

Only then Harry turned his attention back to Riddle and took a slow step forward.

"And now you … let him go," he said in a perfectly controlled voice.

The wide red eyes stopped measuring the classroom in obvious search for the closest exit and focused solely on Harry.

Voldemort didn't say anything, only the knife in his hand twitched imperceptibly, making Neville hiss in pain.

_**"If you kill him, you won't escape. You will die, Tom."**_

Harry didn't raise his voice when he switched to Parseltongue. Doing so would completely ruin his reasonable attitude.

Voldemort's lips curled upward in a response, forming an unpleasant sneer.

_**"They are going to kill me anyway," **_he hissed back, his cat like eyes gleaming from the shadow.

_**"No, they won't. Just keep your promise and no one will hurt you."**_

Harry kept the discussion in their secret language, hoping that it would add some trustworthiness to his affirmations.

The Dark Lord, however, remained unconvinced.

_**"You think you can stop them?"**_he sneered. _**"You can't even..."**_

_**"I can't even what?" **_

Harry didn't let him finish. He needed to prove his stance.

_**"Just when will you stop underestimating me, Tom? Let him go and I assure you I can take care of the rest."**_

Voldemort didn't speak for some time. He just kept watching him, atypical indecision written in his face. It fascinated Harry how well he learned to read his expressions. After a minute of growing suspense he decided to take the initiative and approached Voldemort slowly. As he was coming closer, he glanced at Neville, whose sickly pale face was wet from rivulets of sweat. His friend was absolutely tense, but silent, showing how well he dealt with his fear.

Harry's eyes slid down to his Neville's neck, followed the length of the blade and stopped at those long pale digits, which were squeezing the knife's handle. He reached out and slowly curled his fingers around Voldemort's thin wrist. A careful pull at the white hand was met with resistance. He looked up reassuringly and tugged at the wrist again, making the blade lose contact with Neville's reddened skin.

No one was breathing. The silence was so tense that Harry was certain that he would hear a pin drop on the floor in the farthest corner.

Harry pushed the blade aside, extracting Neville from the Voldemort's firm grip. At one point the Dark Lord let the young Longbottom go in order to seize Harry's shirt instead.

"Harry!"

"No, Neville!" Harry stopped him by raising his hand. "It's all right. I have a wand."

It didn't seem to calm his friend much, but he eventually nodded. Then he stepped aside, retrieving his own wand from the ground.

_**"Pity," **_Voldemort hissed softly. _**"I wouldn't mind cutting off his head."**_

_**"Still blaming him for Nagini's death? Remember, he just did what I asked him to do,"**_ Harry hissed back, his voice sounding hollow to his ears. His fingers mechanically loosened the clutch on his collar and once separated, Harry suppressed a sigh. He felt a bit pathetic for he secretly wished to prolong every second their skin touched.

He shook it off with some difficulty and looked up at his friends to make a short speech.

The words died on his lips the moment he saw the consternation on their faces.

They were gaping at him as if they've never seen him before, some of them shaking their heads in disbelief, the others muttering something quietly. The only one who looked relatively unaffected was Hermione, who probably got an idea of what was going on. Also Luna seemed very calm when Harry compared her to the others, but that was probably a part of her nature.

They stood like that for several long excruciating moments before Ron finally stuttered out aloud.

"Harry … for Merlin's beard … how did you do that?"

It occurred to Harry that they must be this shocked because they didn't expect Lord Voldemort to simply give up his hostage without any fight. He wished he could explain it without confusing them even more.

"Well...," he began, rubbing his temple distractedly, "let's say that I used some highly cogent arguments and it, fortunately, worked. Please, don't let this occurrence divert your attention from our priority, which is the escape from the castle. Don't forget that much worse danger is waiting behind those doors."

"He just assaulted Neville and you want to let him go? Why are you treating him so kindly, Harry? Why don't _you _seek revenge? He doesn't deserve the tiniest bit of your compassion!"

Harry turned to a tall brown-eyed student with a mousy brown hair and a prefect badge on his chest who asked the questions.

"Dennis?"

"Yeah, it's me."

Harry could only stare for a moment. Surely that handsome young man couldn't be poor Collin's small brother, or could he?

"You've grown a lot," he muttered quietly.

"Yeah, I was lucky. Unlike Collin."

The bitter tone in the young man's voice told Harry that Dennis won't just let it pass. He's been probably thinking of revenge ever since that horrible Battle of Hogwarts.

That cancelled the easy solution. Harry had to deal with the harder one.

"So," Harry said, his voice getting an icy sub-tone, "You want to kill him to get some satisfaction, right? Tell me, Dennis, if you did it, do you think that it would bring Collin back? Or anyone else … my parents for example?"

Dennis, unprepared for that kind of reaction, stayed silent.

"You know very well it doesn't work that way," Harry said and his words were gradually losing the harsh edge. "You would only hurt yourself, you would tear your soul apart... Tell me, do you think he's worth it?"

"But someone has to stop him and if you refuse to do it then I will!"

Dennis bit into his trembling lower lip, his anxiety evidently growing.

Harry heard the Dark Lord drag his feet behind him in a nervous manner. He pretended not to hear and looked over the others. It was apparent that at least some of them felt exactly the same as Dennis did.

"If he kills again, then I will stop him, you can count on that. Concerning my desire for revenge, I must say that I don't really feel a need to murder anyone. I'm sick of seeing people die. I've already witnessed it too many times."

He took a step away from the young Gryffindor prefect and glanced over the room.

"But I know that I will be eventually see it again. Because we are facing a new, immensely dangerous, threat. You probably know already what I'm talking about. It's the vampires. They're controlling the Ministry, they're practically running our wizarding community. Umbridge is just a puppet in the Leader's hands. She's doing whatever he tells her to do. According to her, and consequently the official newspapers, everything's all right. But it's not. Thirty hours ago, the basement of the Order, and also the basement of the Death Eaters, was razed to the ground by the Leader's army – the people he murdered and turned into soulless bloodthirsty monsters.

They are eradicating us without any warning, without giving us any particular reason. If we want to defeat them, we need to know more, learn more about them, especially about that Leader who's behind all of that. And the person who holds some of the answers is him."

Harry pointed at Voldemort and turned back to Dennis.

"So if we killed him as you suggested, we might easily lose a chance to discover how to get rid of someone equally terrifying."

The young man was watching Harry for a moment, evidently thinking it over. Then he spoke.

"We have been discussing this … before you came. So you really think that the Leader is a vampire," Dennis concluded and Harry thought he heard doubts in his voice.

"I don't think so … it's not my assumption, Dennis, - he_ is_ a vampire! I felt his canines on my neck! But it's up to you if you want to believe me or not."

"But I've heard that he's also doing magic like a normal wizard," Neville joined the discussion.

"Yeah, it's true. I don't know how it is possible though, which is one of the many things I don't know about him," Harry admitted.

"I believe what Harry says," George spoke in his deep voice. "Something is definitely wrong. Something happened to Angelina. She's gone. Just like Percy … this is _insane_!"

"I believe Harry too," Luna nodded as she spoke, her voice gaining the usual dreamy quality. "Vampires have been planning this takeover for years. Rufus Scrimgeour was the first of them who started this. My father wrote a very long article about him where he revealed all of these facts, but he was forced not to publish it."

Though Harry appreciated Luna's endeavour to support him, her words weren't giving him the proper credibility. Rufus certainly wasn't a vampire, but it seemed pointless to try to talk some sense into her.

As expected, her comment ignited the most fervent discussion where everyone wanted to voice his or her opinion. Harry watched it with a mild bewilderment, until someone's hand on his shoulder diverted his attention.

"We must go, Potter," Voldemort said softly to his ear.

For a moment, Harry had completely forgotten that he was still here and funnily, so did the others.

"_Well done, by the way," _the Dark Lord added in a barely noticeable hiss. If Harry weren't so tired, he would probably secretly enjoy that praise.

"We're not outside yet," he said instead and then raised his voice so the others could hear him as well.

"I don't want to give the Leader an opportunity to outrun us. We must leave now … if you don't mind, Dennis," Harry said while looking at the young prefect.

"If you are so certain of his importance, Harry, then I will not oppose you. But I haven't heard him say anything important yet. Why can't he just say something which would prove my doubts wrong? For example, I wouldn't mind to know: what's the Leader up to?"

Harry felt that there was nothing more left for him to say or explain. He turned to Riddle with a slightly raised eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.

_**"I refuse to talk to that filthy mudblood, Potter. Besides, even if I were about to speak to him, the explanation itself would hold us back for too long," **_Voldemort hissed at Harry in Parseltongue.

_**"I'm done being your spokesman, Tom,"**_ Harry said and smirked as he saw how the older wizard's eyes narrowed in irritation.

_**"I see that you're still the same brat,"**_ Riddle snarled and turned to the small group of people, his red eyes glowing. "You shall know that those who will receive this information are condemned to die, though not by my hand. The Leader will murder anyone who learns about his secrets. A man or a woman, a child or an ancient, pureblood or mudblood - it makes no difference to him. Hence, I would prefer if purebloods immediately left. The rest can, of course, stay and listen."

The previous low murmur died away that instant.

After a moment of heavy silence Ron turned to Harry and quietly asked.

"Is that … is he joking?"

Harry sighed and shook his head.

"I'm afraid that he never jokes. You should seriously reconsider if you want to take that risk. If I can personally request something then – don't take it."

When no one commented it, Harry seized Voldemort's right sleeve and tugged at it. The Dark Lord took the hint and followed him quickly.

"Go back to your dorm and as long as the Leader's here, never stay alone. Pretend that you know nothing. Only then you'll be safe," Harry told the students as he passed them, while Ron and Hermione joined him without a word.

"Be careful," he said with his hand on the handle.

"Harry?" Neville suddenly asked and took three steps towards them. "How do you want to get out?"

"We want to use the passage behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy," Harry replied, curious as to why his friend wanted to know it.

"And what if it's watched, what then?" Neville said and Harry hesitated with the answer. Honestly, he didn't know.

"I'll go with you and distract the guards' attention, if necessary," Neville continued in a quiet voice. "If the Leader is after you then why don't we make his task as difficult as possible?"

"I'm going too," George joined Neville.

"So am I," Luna said dreamily.

"You can count on us," Lee said and Hannah nodded fervently.

"No … wait … you can't just do that! It's too dangerous!" Harry tried to protest at once.

"Come on, Harry. Say that you need us," George smirked and then turned to the students. "And you kids go back to beds!"

"I'm going with you," Dennis said resolutely. "I want to help."

"No, Dennis. Thanks for the offer but you're still an underage wizard and this is too risky," Harry replied sternly.

"The school is under alert and many of the corridors are blocked. As a Hogwarts prefect, I know the passwords. I think I can be quite useful."

"Fine," Harry gave up. "Just ... don't make me regret this decision," he said and seized the bag which he conjured back in the kitchen. Then he turned to Voldemort who was busy pretending that he wasn't even there.

"Put on the invisibility cloak, Tom. If anyone sees us, we'd better not to give them unnecessary reasons to pursue us," he whispered. Voldemort glowered at him shortly for being called by his muggle name, but he took the cloak wordlessly, hiding his tall body under the soft, nearly translucent fabric.

Once outside the classroom, Harry turned to Hermione and asked her discretely for a small dose of a Blood-Replenishing potion. He was immensely tired of that constant, unpleasant weakness in his knees. Her eyes grew wide as she heard his request, but she nodded quickly and a moment later she handed him a small flask from her travelling bag. Harry uncorked it and chased away that sickening feeling in one gulp.

The corridors were dark and suspiciously silent. Harry quickly divided their small expedition into three teams, each one containing at least three people.

First went Dennis with Neville and Hannah, second was Harry's group whose members were obvious – he, Ron, Hermione and Voldemort, and in the third was George accompanied by Lee and Luna.

The statue wasn't too far, if Harry remembered the path correctly and yet their journey seemed endless to him. Not that he had many reasons to complain. They progressed smoothly to the ground floor and across the long corridor without anyone seeing them. It was on the second, crossing nearby Professor Binns' study, where the long-awaited troubles began.

They were just about to turn the corner when Voldemort shed the cloak to his shoulders and stopped them. He showed in gestures that the first group was dealing with someone who definitely didn't belong among Hogwarts personnel.

The youngster's stomach did a somersault in his belly.

"Who are they?" he breathed out as he peeped behind corner to see the two men.

_**"The one on the right surely belongs to Negura's reinforcements. It's a speculation, but I assume that Negura brought him here for vampires are much more effective trackers than wizards,"**_ the Dark Lord hissed very quietly, turning Harry's knees into jelly. This time it was for a different reason than his unfulfilled lust. Harry couldn't believe that he allowed his friends to partake in this dangerous mission. If anything happened to them it would be only his fault.

"Fuck it all," he snarled under his breath.

"I do not usually approve your swears, Potter … but this is an exception."

"What will we do?"

"Negura surely forbid the vampires to reveal their true nature. He won't attack us unless necessary. But you must not forget about his enhanced physical constitution and senses."

"Right. You'd better stay under the cloak," Harry suggested and leaned to Ron and Hermione who were watching the discussion between Dennis, Neville and the strangers. He quickly told them about the discovery, keeping his voice as low as possible. The way they paled indicated that they were as terrified about their friends as Harry was.

"We must help them, Harry. We cannot possibly let them..."

"What? Is the Leader here?" George appeared beside Harry as the members from the third group caught up with them. He leaned forward, trying to take a look at the vampire.

"Quietly!" Harry nearly begged. "And no, it's not him. Just one of the two guards is probably a vampire."

"Okay, I'll deal with them. Lee will surely help me, won't you?"

"Quite so," Lee nodded and listened as George whispered something to his ear. Then his face lightened up with mischief. "No problem," he grinned.

Both young men then turned to Harry and George spoke in a whisper.

"Harry, you've got three minutes to get to the passage. Don't worry about us, we'll be absolutely fine."

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked, nervous.

Instead of an answer, George just smirked and his hand disappeared in one of his large pockets, pulling something out … but strangely his hand remained empty.

"What is it? I don't see anything," Ron asked as he stared at the plain, opened palm.

"This is a pyrotechnical miracle and a hit of the next season. An Invisible Rocket of Doom. Watch it."

George dropped to one knee, activated it and sent it around the corner, where Neville and Dennis were still explaining something to an Auror and Negura's distrustful servant. Then he and Lee began a quiet countdown starting with thirty seconds. As they reached zero an indescribable uproar broke loose.

In the same second Lee and George bolted forth screaming 'You-Know-Who's there!', 'Kill him!' and 'Hurry up!' while pointing their wands somewhere ahead, where the eruptions took place.

Harry looked behind the corner and noticed that the Auror followed them immediately, while the vampire looked very suspicious. But as he saw the true shock in Neville's and Dennis' faces, he turned and sprinted towards the enchanted fireworks as well.

"Perfect," Harry said. "Let's go guys. Now or never."

The rest happened in the blur. Harry's group together with Luna made it to the statue within a minute. They disappeared through the secret passage and Luna closed the entrance behind them. Then she leaned against it, watching the ceiling with a face telling everyone not to disturb her for she was extremely busy watching her fictitious animals.

Seeing her loony expression, no one even dared to approach her.

xxxxx

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_27__th__ December 2000, 1:30 _

Draco was a trained Death Eater. He shouldn't have lost his fight with Weasley so easily. But he wasn't quick enough and his surprise worked as a great disadvantage. Weasley easily shook him off, grasped the wand which Draco tried to steal and cast a full Body-Bind Curse at him. Draco's hands and arms snapped together and he fell backwards on the hard paving, stiff as a board and unable to move.

"What is going on here?"

Draco's heart, which was one of the few muscles which were allowed to move under the influence of the spell, sped up dramatically. That voice … that nasty, cruel and coarse voice of a man who seemed to be suffering a dreadful thirst scraped brutally on his tense nerves. According to the accent, the man was a foreigner. Draco didn't doubt that he was one of Negura's bloodsucking freaks.

"Weasley! Explain!"

The typical little snarl of an irritated vampire affirmed the nature of the speaker.

The red-headed traitor scrambled on his feet and stepped into Draco's field of vision.

"Just a minor misunderstanding with the Leader's ward. Everything is under control now, sir," he replied courtly.

Heavy steps approached Draco leisurely and stopped somewhere behind him. The angle of his head didn't allow him to see the man above until he knelt to him and his awfully cold fingers made him look up. Draco's madly beating heart almost malfunctioned at the sight of that hideous, scarred face.

It was Brutus. One of Negura's closest assistants.

"Draco Malfoy," Brutus whispered with a strong foreign accent.

"I know you. You betrayed Lord Voldemort in order to save your own unimportant life, right? I'm allergic to traitors, Malfoy. I told the Leader that he should reconsider his decision to keep you alive. If you were my servant at a time of my glory, I would…," he lowered his head to speak to his ear, "...strip you of your pretty skin for what you've done. It's a nice, slow and very painful death," he smirked cruelly. "I would enjoy watching it."

If Draco could produce any sound, he would be screaming for help right now. The way he was now, he could only stare ahead in a silent horror.

"Nevertheless, I've come to develop different tastes over the time," Brutus continued quietly, while sniffing him as if he was a tasty looking steak on the plate, "Much more profound, I'd say. Mere screams doesn't satisfy me anymore."

"Sir," Percy interjected and bowed his head a little as if apologizing for the interruption. "I think I should bring him back to Mr. Desalmado. If you don't mind, sir," he said courtly.

Something close to disappointment flashed in the mutilated face. The vampire rose to his feet, his nearly black eyes kept watching Draco, unblinking. Finally, he ran his hand through his dirty-looking curly black hair and turned to Percy.

"True … he's not worth any troubles. Go then. I'll do the sorting."

"Yes, sir," Percy bowed again and hauled the young man on his feet once he undid the spell.

"Don't try anything foolish, Malfoy, " he snarled and pushed him forward, his wand at ready.

Draco didn't protest. He was drowning in a black, endless sea of misery and wished he could haul someone along with him. Who else, but that stuck-up Weasley who thought that he was better than him?

"I know I'm going to die, Weasley," he said acidly as they crossed the Atrium. "But hopefully, it will happen long after you. I'm not the only traitor here."

Percy didn't respond verbally. Draco only felt a sharp prod of the wand between his shoulder blades.

They walked in silence for some time and entered a smaller hall where the lifts were situated. Percy suddenly asked.

"Why did you attack me, Malfoy?"

"Shall I count the reasons, Weasley?" Draco snarled over his shoulder.

"It just occurred to me how unusual of you it is to try to save those people."

Draco spun around, facing him, his fist clenching. He didn't find any courage to hit him and so he just spat at his boots.

"You're showing me a new meaning to the term 'blood traitor', Weasley. I _abhor_ you."

Draco hoped it would anger him, but Weasley's face remained stiff and unreadable.

"Fascinating," Percy said calmly and inclined his head to one side. "I thought that it was always only you who mattered."

"Don't talk to me like that, you filth! If my father was alive he would..." Draco gasped for breath as his throat narrowed. He turned away, so Percy couldn't see his pain.

"...he would make you regret it," he finished and halted at the end of the small hall beside a wrought golden grille.

"You sound like someone who regrets joining Negura," Percy said as they waited for the lift to descend. "How strange. I thought that you're his lucky favourite. You're under his protection for most of the time."

Draco's anger which boiled inside him ever since Percy first spoke to him reached critical level.

"I was convinced that you two are _friends_."

That was the sentence which unleashed Draco's fury. He turned to Weasley, red in the face, gritting his teeth before he screamed at the empty hall.

"My friend? MY FRIEND?-! I HATE THAT MONSTER! HE MURDERED MY FATHER! HE DESTROYED MY FAMILY!"

Percy took a step backward at the force of that outburst.

"You have no idea!" Draco continued, pointing an accusative finger at him. "How he made me suffer! You cannot even imagine the horrors I went through, you filthy … filthy quisling who serves him willingly...!" Draco's voice faltered and he turned away, biting into his fist to stop any pitiful sounds escaping his mouth. "Die Weasley … just die!"

A moment of tense silence was broken by the lift which stopped in front of them with a soft clatter. The golden grille slid back but none of the men stepped in. The blond breathed irregularly, staring at his feet, while his red-headed supervisor only watched him numbly.

"I didn't know about that," Percy said quietly.

"You scum," Draco gasped and looked at him disgustedly. "You don't care. You wouldn't mind watching anyone's slaughter as long as your career shines."

Percy didn't move or speak even when the grille closed again and the lift was called off.

"You joined the Death Eaters, Malfoy," he finally said and straightened his shoulders. "I can say the same about you."

"I didn't have a choice," Draco snarled quietly, as if for himself. "If I had, I would do everything differently."

Percy seemed to be astounded by what he heard. When he spoke again, his voice had lost much of its formality.

"Still, you knew what you'd become. I was the one who had no chance to protest. At the beginning I was under the Imperius Curse, blindly fulfilling whatever the Leader ordered me to do. Later, when he bewitched more and more people, I felt his control slipping. I managed to free myself from the effects of the curse. At first, I wanted to flee and return to the safety of the basement of the Order but then I learned that it was destroyed. I realized that I have to stay here and fight back in secret. If I ran away, the Leader would find someone else for this post. Someone, who would be more susceptible. Someone, who would not try to save as many people as possible. Someone who wouldn't care … if my mother, dad or brothers fell into their unforgiving grasp."

Now it was Draco's turn to watch him with disbelief. His anger slowly dissipated, leaving him tired and hollow. It finally dawned on him that Weasley was by no means one of Negura's followers. Understanding began to fill that vast empty space in his mind.

"I couldn't just leave this place, knowing that they could become the next victims," Percy said, waiting for some kind of reaction from the young Death Eater. Draco didn't reply. He just nodded, avoiding direct eye contact. Percy sighed and turned to the golden grille, raising the wand.

"If someone heard what we talked about, we're both dead," he said plainly and summoned the lift again.

"Does it make us allies?" Draco asked solemnly as he followed Weasley inside the lift which began to ascend slowly with a loud clatter and jingling. Percy considered it for a while.

"It seems we have the same goal," he said then. "It all depends on your demands."

Draco didn't have to think long.

"You will give me your word that you'll do everything you can to stop the vampires from capturing my mother. Also, if you receive any information of her, you will tell me immediately," he said resolutely.

Percy nodded almost immediately.

"I can do that."

"Well," Draco raised his chin. "Now, tell me about your requirements."

Percy thought that over for a significantly longer time than Draco.

"I know that Potter won't just sit back and do nothing," he eventually said. "Even if he'll be the only one, he won't stop until he finds a way to defeat the Leader. But he's going to need information, which I don't have an access to. You're quite close to the Leader so it shouldn't be such a problem for you to obtain it. Potter will need evidence of the Leader's doings. Once he has it, he can convince the wizarding community to fight back. Only then is there a chance that we could see the end of this reign of vampires."

"I shall become _Potter's_ spy?" Draco said, torn between incredulity and disbelief.

"Would being a spy against the Leader would sound better to you?" Percy countered as the lift stopped.

Draco just watched him for a long moment before he finally nodded.

"Much better," he said.

"Great," Percy nodded. "Then we have an agreement."

Draco lips slowly curved upwards. After days and days of crushing isolation, he suddenly felt he wasn't alone any more.

___xxxxx_

_Hogwarts_

_27__th__ December 2000, 1:45 _

Harry's eyes didn't even have time to accommodate to the darkness of the corridor as they were already outside, dazzled by the whiteness of the fresh snow around the castle.

"Harry, quickly!" Hermione called, gesturing at him wildly.

Harry nodded and ran out of the shadow. He noticed that Voldemort was already a couple of feet ahead of him. It was a quite an amusing sight to watch his head float in mid-air, seemingly unsupported by the rest of his body.

Harry stifled his mirth and lengthened his steps to catch his friends, soon passing Riddle, treating him with an amused side glance.

Hermione meanwhile took command of their team and set out towards the Whomping Willow. She also cast a spell to wipe off their footprints which could easily give them away.

They made across the grounds quickly, without anything thwarting their plans, which Harry found highly unusual. The freezing charm placed upon the Willow also worked flawlessly, allowing them to enter the passage without much difficulty.

"It's too easy, I don't like it," Harry gasped for breath and looked up from the passage at the narrow part of the night sky.

"Didn't you have enough troubles for one day that you still want some more?" Ron countered breathlessly.

Harry smiled and watched Voldemort slide elegantly through the cramped access and then shed the cloak and roll it up under his armpit. Harry wordlessly took it from him and gave it to Ron who were carrying Hermione's bag.

Then he adjusted the strap of his own rucksack and went past them, facing the dark tunnel ahead. He lit up the wand, taking a deep breath to encourage himself and set forward to the unpleasant shelter at the end of the journey.

He heard his friends talk quietly as they walked behind him.

"I seriously wonder if You-Know-Who is deadly sick," Ron whispered furtively to Hermione.

Harry heard it and instantly felt as if a freezing fist squeezed his heart.

"Why do you think so?" he asked, barely hiding his anxiety as he turned to them.

"Well, he didn't insult or attack anyone during past half an hour, did he?"

Hermione only glanced at Harry, who didn't answer for a while. Finally he shrugged.

"Maybe he's grateful for our help."

Ron chuckled and shook his head.

"Nah, you don't really believe that, Harry, do you?"

When Harry didn't say anything, he continued.

"Honestly, I wish we were helping anyone but him."

Harry sighed and looked down at his feet. He understood why Ron was saying that. But he couldn't just happily agree with that as his friend probably expected, meaning that he was going to disappoint him again.

"I can't say the same," he finally said in a gloomy voice. "I much rather help him than Negura."

Surprisingly, Ron nodded fervently.

"Yeah, that's right. That undead monster is equally terrifying."

Harry's lips curved into a smile. He couldn't help but be pleased that Ron no longer considered Voldemort as the most evil existence on the world. Ron then turned to Hermione, but Harry didn't mind that they talked about their private business again. He felt better now.

The rest of the journey was quite uneventful and passed in a haze of tiredness. At first it was too cold for Harry to even think of sleep but later when Hermione gave them thick sweaters from her special bag, he felt much warmer and therefore much more tired. Harry liked when something happened around him, because he didn't have to think about his insipid problems or worse, his immense crush.

Ron was lucky compared to him. He didn't know how completely torn inside Harry felt. His problems seemed ridiculous for Harry, but he tried to take them seriously, because when they stopped at the entrance to the Shrieking Shack, his friend looked rather pale and nervous.

"I wonder who had the splendid idea to spend a night in the most haunted building in Britain together with the most fearsome guy of the century?" he said bitterly.

Harry chuckled for he knew that it wasn't a really serious complaint. He unconsciously sought out the Dark Lord, who stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes watching them slyly. Their gazes met for a split second and Harry immediately felt a rush of heat running from his toes to his ears.

He gulped idly and cleared his throat.

"I won't be that bad," he said once he regained control over his voice. "The Leader's company would be a way worse, I think."

"I'll go check it out first," he added and turned to the small, old, wizened door. He leaned against it, pushing aside a heavy crate which blocked it from the other side. Once the passageway was cleared, he stepped inside a disordered, dusty room. Everything seemed to be just as he remembered it from the previous visits. Then Voldemort appeared beside him and Harry was suddenly and inexplicably horror-struck by his memories. He recalled seeing the Dark Lord in this very room, looming over Snape as he ordered Nagini to kill him. And the snake obliged, swirling and coiling in her enchanted starry sphere and Harry remembered how much he wished to penetrate its protection and finish the task Dumbledore gave to him. It was so surreal to stand here beside the very same man as if they were old friends, when just a month ago he would do anything to kill him. How could so many things change so fast? Voldemort still looked the same – the same red eyes, the same flattened serpentine face, the same gleaming pallor of his skin in the semi-darkness. Only now he didn't have the Elder wand, there was no follower to kill and also no snake to protect.

"Feeling nostalgic, Potter?" he said very quietly, but his voice still carried its unmistakable high and clear tone, which made Harry alert again.

"Yeah … sort of," he admitted. "I just don't know if it is me or it's the world around that went mad while I wasn't paying attention. This is _so weird_."

Voldemort pulled back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening. He was checking this place, Harry realized.

"Weird, you say," he finally whispered. "Yet you're not the one who's been helpless and humiliated to the core, remember that the last time you stood in here, you had nearly everything you ever wanted."

"No, I was just about to die," Harry replied quietly and turned to help Hermione as he heard her climb inside. She immediately pulled out her wand and began to cast all kinds of protective charms. The last one to enter from the passage was Ron.

"Is he in here?" he asked, nervous, scanning the room briskly.

"Who?" Harry wondered.

"Snape, of course!" Ron whispered.

"Oh. I haven't seen him yet, but I still have to check the upper floor too," Harry said and couldn't help but smirk a little.

"Don't make fun of me, Harry. This is a serious matter," Ron complained.

"That would never cross my mind."

"Sure it wouldn't."

"You can come along and see with your own eyes that this place is as empty as ever," Harry suggested.

"Er … no, I think I'd rather stay down here, you know."

Harry didn't try to convince him any further and quickly climbed the stairs, keeping the wand at ready. As he proceeded in a fast exploration of the upper part of the dingy dwelling, he fully realized how truly horrible this place was, no matter if the rumors about it were right or wrong. It was cold, dusty, filled with old, broken furniture. A strange stench and inexplicable sounds were coming from every dark corner. Harry wondered whether it was Boggarts who settled in the Shrieking Shack in droves.

Nevertheless, he couldn't say that he found something really threatening in any of the three rooms situated in the first floor and so he returned downstairs, seeing that his friends already tried to make that place a bit cosier. It was cleaned around the table and Hermione even conjured her famous blue flames which produced pleasant warmth in the close surroundings. She and Ron sat on an old worm-eaten sofa, huddled together, watching the flames in silence. Only now and then did they uttered a word or two.

Voldemort was keeping his distance, his arms still crossed over his chest, his eyes closed as if he was listening to something intently. Harry came across the dark room and took a seat in the empty armchair.

"The upper floor's clear," he muttered and leaned towards the table, warming his cold fingers in the pleasant heat.

"Good to hear that," Ron said quietly. "But I still much rather be back at home."

"It's quite cold here," Harry whispered to divert the flow of Ron's thoughts. "Why don't we heat up the fireplace over there?" he asked, making Hermione gasp incredulously.

"No! Don't forget that this place is uninhabited, Harry. It would be very suspicious if someone saw a smoke coming from the chimney!"

"Oh, right," Harry nodded impassively, feeling silly for missing such an important detail. He rubbed his fingers and his eyes subconsciously located Voldemort. It started to irritate him that his infatuation already reached the point where he couldn't stop watching him. As if he was somehow addicted to his presence. Getting angry with himself, he forced himself to look back into the small flames, but several seconds later he found himself staring at him again.

Worse, he felt that Ron noticed how he gazed at Riddle.

He took a deep breath and addressed the man.

"Why don't you come here and take a seat, Voldemort?"

The Dark Lord glanced at him, making every inch of Harry's skin tingle. For a moment it seemed that he wasn't interested in joining them, but the allurement of the warmth produced by the blue flames proved to be too strong. He came slowly, unhurriedly and graciously sank into the remaining free armchair which stood mere two feet from Harry's. The raven-haired youngster closed his eyes to cut himself off the arrant distraction, but hearing a mere lisp of his robes made his heart throb. For one insane second he almost wished that his friends weren't there so he could act upon his instincts. He shook his head, remembering that he promised Hermione that he will try to resist that ...that shameful weakness of his.

"Harry...!"

Thinking of her, he just realized she was talking to him.

"Harry, why don't you ask him about Negura. It's a perfect time now, isn't it?" she whispered, shielding away when Voldemort treated her with his glare.

"Yes … yes, you're right Hermione. I've almost forgotten."

He turned to him, happy that now he had a good reason to watch him without being utterly inappropriate.

"It's time for you to fulfil your part of bargain, Voldemort. You surely remember my conditions. Tell us what you know about Negura."

The Dark Lord didn't move his head, but his eyes fixed on him. He regarded him for a while without moving a single facial muscle and then he suddenly sneered.

"And are you ready to pay the price for that information?"

"Yes," Harry answered.

"Suit yourself then. What do you want to know?"

"Well...," Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked at his friends.

"Everything. Everything you know about him from A to Z."

Voldemort produced a short nasal sound and made himself more comfortable in the dusty armchair.

"You shall know," he began, "that the information I have of his youth can be misleading. He's nearly four centuries old, which make the all the sources somewhat - unreliable."

Harry only nodded and took a cup of warm tea which Hermione conjured, while Voldemort began to revive the Leader's past.

"Negura was the youngest of the seven siblings," he said in his eerie cold voice, which resonated in the silent room. "He was born in a small Romanian village at the beginning of the year 1626. I do not have a knowledge of the blood status of his parents, but it's unquestionable that he was a very gifted child. His magical abilities were nothing less than extraordinary. He finished his education at Durmstrang as one of the best student that ever attended the school."

Voldemort paused to take a sip of his tea and Ron used that moment to mutter.

"Durmstrang? No wonder that he's so good in the Dark Arts. I've heard that Durmstrang students learn a lot about them, even the Unforgivable Curses."

"Actually," the Dark Lord spoke and his high, clear voice made Ron hush up immediately, "he decided to become an Auror."

"An … Auror?" Harry stuttered out disbelievingly.

"Yes," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes gleaming. "And he was certainly a very successful one."

"During the first decades of the seventeenth century a significant part of the Eastern Europe was terrorized by a relatively mighty dark lord, who called himself Alcander the Atrocious. The irony was that this _wizard_ was in fact a mudblood and yet he desired to rule the world as if he were a noble pureblood. His aims and desires were the usual - ultimate power and an immortal life. To obtain these, he didn't hesitate to resort to the most ruthless ways."

"A _muggle-born_ dark lord?"

Ron choked on his tea and Hermione scrunched her eyebrows as she tried to remember when she heard that name before.

"You will not find him in any textbooks or common literary sources for Negura's systematically wiping off cognizance of anyone connected to his past. Especially of this long deceased dark lord who, in my opinion, holds the key to Negura's inexplicable immortality."

"Why do you think so?" Harry asked quietly, his eyes not leaving Riddle for a second.

"Alcander performed many experiments on vampires," Voldemort said blankly. "He was testing the limits of their immortality. Apparently, before he could disclose their secret or apply it to himself, his hideout was destroyed by the Aurors and he was defeated by Negura in person, who was about twenty years old at that time."

"Bloody hell...," Ron muttered breathlessly.

"Bloody, hell," he repeated. "He killed a dark lord when he was _twenty_? Are we really supposed to defeat that guy?"

Harry shook his head. He was struggling to find some sense in that story.

"What happened then?" he asked. "What happened to Negura? He was an Auror, he was a hero … how could he … why would he become such a freak?"

Voldemort took another sip and placed the cup back on the table.

"As I found out in two old chronicles, Negura was already married in the time of his great victory over Alcander. His wife was expecting which was probably the reason why Negura was too distracted to become aware of the revenge which was plotted against him. Alcander the Atrocious had numerous followers who became hunted like animals soon after his downfall. All of them regarded Negura as the main reason of their suffering. Thus, two months after his glorious victory, Negura found all members of his family dead. No one was spared including his parents, his siblings with their families and also his pregnant wife."

Harry's breath froze in his lungs. He felt as if a cold fist was squeezing his insides. How could Voldemort continue to speak with such a detached voice as if nothing about Negura's fate could affect him?

"According to few relevant sources, he lost his mind shortly after that and committed suicide. But he didn't die – well, not entirely. I'm certain that he became a vampire willingly, so he could carry on his revenge for eternity on every dark lord who ever raised to power."

A grave silence filled the room and the whole dark house. Only some distant soft creaks of the wooden walls and boarded windows assured Harry that he didn't turn deaf.

"They … murdered his _whole_ family?" Harry finally whispered, feeling the blood slowly return to his face. He couldn't believe that he would ever feel such a rush of sympathy towards that cruel, heartless man. But his gruesome fate was so alike his.

Negura surely knew how it felt to be the only one left alive to mourn for the family he lost before he could actually have it...

"Thinking about switching sides, Potter?" Voldemort asked poignantly. If there was a hidden insecurity in his voice, Harry didn't hear it.

He didn't answer immediately, giving Ron space to say what he thought about it.

"He actually has a very noble-minded purpose, hasn't he?" he muttered towards Hermione.

Harry saw out of the corner of his eye how Tom's long-fingered hand curled into a fist, but his face remained impassive.

"The blood traitor obviously thinks," he spoke, probably to Harry, "that a slaughter of six hundreds muggles at the end of the nineteenth century can justify the death of the fifth dark lord which Negura decided to put out of the way. I didn't expect this from such a muggle lover."

"What did he just call me?" Ron asked, jumping from the sofa and pulling out his wand.

"Ron, please, don't," Harry spoke quickly and turned at Riddle with a piercing look carrying a clear message that he'd better stop insulting his friends.

Voldemort said nothing to that, but he also didn't apologize.

"Negura's purpose isn't noble-minded, Ron," Hermione spoke quietly all of a sudden. "He doesn't hunt the dark lords to protect the ordinary people from their reign. Quite the opposite. I think that he doesn't care about how many people he kills in order to reach his goal. It seems that he neither cares for muggles, nor for magicians – only for himself and his revenge."

She looked up at Voldemort, but quickly averted her eyes to Harry. "I think that what he told us is true. I remember reading about Negura and Alcander the Atrocious in _A History of Magical Arts in Eastern Europe._ I just … didn't make the right connection. I didn't know his name back then. Anyway, if Negura's been killing people for centuries, if he's been _dead_ for centuries, then we cannot expect him to have much human compassion left."

She edged up nervously on the sofa, biting into her lower lip.

"Of course … only if he is really dead," she whispered.

This time it was Harry who nearly fell from his seat.

"You doubt it? You doubt that he's a vampire after everything what happened? After he attacked you?-!"

"Harry, I'm not denying that he's a vampire. I'm just saying that he may not be completely dead."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The magic which your body produces is directly connected to your living essence. Vampires do not know this kind of magic for they're dead. I do not have much information about the kind of power which resides inside them; only that it is nothing like ours. And yet, Negura's able to do_ our_ magic too. He's breaking every known rule by that."

"There must be some explanation," Harry whispered and turned to Voldemort, who stood up and began to pace slowly. As he made the second circle around the room, he paused and looked at Harry.

"If I had one, Potter, I wouldn't be here," he said coldly.

"Great. We have to guess then," Harry slapped his own knees. "Any ideas?"

Voldemort finished the third circle before he came to halt behind Harry's armchair.

"He had direct access to Alcander's knowledge. He could learn many things – he could find a way how to transfer the magic from those who are alive to those who are dead," he said and clenched his pearly white hands into the back of Harry's armchair.

"However, this speculation has some limitations," he continued, his eyes boring into Harry's scalp.

Harry bent his head backward so he could watch him speak.

"He could probably obtain doses of magic from the blood of wizards and witches he killed. But it wouldn't be enough. To reach the same level as a common wizard has, he would have to kill dozens of magicians per day. Yet, when he was my servant, he often didn't have a chance to kill anyone in days without any significant influence on his magical abilities."

Harry nodded, shortly.

"So, I though about it differently. If he discovered a way to lock a certain level of his magic inside his body before he died, he could still use it without any feeding. I counted on this option when I fought him yesterday. I expected that he was going to run short of it eventually. I waited for that moment so I could crush him like a worm, but … my assumption was wrong. It seemed that his ability to regenerate and produce magic wasn't affected by any harm I inflicted upon him or any amount of time he spent duelling me."

"I see," Harry said and looked at Ron and Hermione. "It seems that neither is the correct answer. It's probably not some kind of spell or anything alike. I assume that there's no way how we could find out what he learned from Alcander."

"Impossible," Voldemort lowered his voice, which almost turned into a hiss. "I've spent many years searching for it without any success. He had to have destroyed everything Alcander had ever written."

This was turning really depressive. Harry scratched his forehead, feeling immensely tired.

"So," Voldemort said as he seated himself again. "I believe I've satisfied your curiosity, Potter. Now it's time for you to tell me your solution. You're an expert in disclosing people's secrets, aren't you? You destroyed all my Horcruxes within one year without me uttering a single word about them. I'm sure that this will be just a piece of cake for you."

"That's not true," Harry opposed. "I didn't destroy them all within one year and I wouldn't know much about them without Dumbledore telling me everything – or a lot, so to speak."

Voldemort's acid glare warned Harry that a new argument was coming. He could already feel it and so he quickly raised his hands.

"Let's not argue about this, okay? What happened, happened. We cannot change it, right?"

Quite understandably, the following silence was heavy and unpleasant again. Harry was just about to call it a day and go to bed, or whatever, when Ron hesitantly spoke.

"Can I say something?"

"Sure, go on," Harry prompted him.

"It's about Negura. I was just thinking about what Hermione said. Don't laugh at me, but … if he's not entirely dead, could it be that he has a Horcrux?"

Harry saw how Voldemort palmed his face, which has to be a sign of a total desperation. He alone felt that Ron just didn't see it right.

"A vampire cannot make himself a Horcrux, Ron," he said quietly. "Remember, he doesn't have a soul anymore."

Ron's enthusiasm visibly sagged and he run his hand through his red mane and muttered something about that it was worth a try.

"Actually, I don't think it is such a bad idea. What if he created one before he became a vampire?" Hermione suggested, while watching Harry and Voldemort in turns.

"He was an Auror, Hermione," Harry shook his head. "He wouldn't just kill someone to make himself immortal."

"But he committed at least one murder when he was still alive, Harry," she held her own. "He killed that dark lord."

"You really think that you can consider a result of a duel as a murder?" Harry protested. The simple thought of it could give him goosebumps.

"I think that it strongly depends on the circumstances. He could, however, have killed someone else when his family was massacred. He lost his mind, Harry, which probably made him do horrible things."

Her arguments slowly eroded Harry's conviction until he turned to Voldemort, asking directly.

"Hypothetically, what would happen if someone who has a Horcrux was killed by a vampire? Would he or she become a vampire too while a part of their soul would be still alive?"

The Dark Lord seemed agitated for some reason Harry couldn't grasp at first.

"Stop talking nonsense, Potter! You don't have the slightest idea how contradictory your statements are! If a wizard creates a Horcrux, it's because he wants to live forever, not to die. Besides, any wizard powerful enough to create a Horcrux can easily fight off an attack by a common vampire. I don't see that situation ever happening."

"I said hypothetically," Harry replied, unshaken. "If that certain wizard wanted to become a vampire … willingly." He used the same term as Voldemort before, to show him that not all people have the same conception of their life and future as him. That not everyone was pathologically afraid of death.

But Voldemort refused to accept it.

"I cannot judge the viability of such an abhorrence. It's beyond my knowledge and imagination," he said strictly, his voice freezing cold.

Harry watched his stiff face, wondering how truly abominable a crime against nature it had to be for it to make Voldemort speak of it in that way. He watched how Riddle avoided looking at him, how very tense he seemed and suddenly he remembered something. It made his heart race.

"But Negura could imagine it, couldn't he? He told you so," he whispered quietly.

Voldemort's frightening glare turned to him, but Harry didn't mind. His immunity to the Dark Lord's anger advanced to another level.

"What exactly are you talking about?" Riddle hissed venomously.

"Your memory," Harry whispered. "About that fateful night when Negura tried to kill you."

Voldemort watched him, unmoving.

"He discovered what your diary is, didn't he?" Harry whispered, breathless. "Yet he didn't destroy it. He only cut out one page and said - if I remember correctly - something about a gift."

The Dark Lord gradually became petrified before Harry's eyes. All his muscles, all his bodily functions seemingly stopped. He wasn't breathing, he wasn't moving, he just stared ahead, his red eyes were wide, focused on something behind Harry. Then, after few long moments, his lips moved as he spoke to himself.

"By keeping it alive I'm giving you … a terrific gift...," he breathed out and slowly rose to his feet. His hands trembled as if he sustained a serious shock.

Harry remembered this. Voldemort quoted what Negura told him before he tried to end his life. The youngster slowly got up as well and spoke to him in Parseltongue.

_**"It makes a sense. He didn't want you to become a subordinate vampire like the others, because he … he really cared for you. And maybe he still does – in his own way. Goddamn it, he's keeping your portrait under his pillow – of course he likes you! He surely wanted you to keep your magic intact … so you could be his equal."**_

Harry tried to ignore the flame of jealousy he felt as he said those things aloud. He had no right to feel that way. They weren't lovers or anything. Voldemort hasn't even annulled being his enemy.

But the thought of Negura being romantically involved with Riddle was still driving him crazy. Having a crush on someone who cannot reciprocate his feelings was a curse worth sorting among the Unforgivables. How fitting for the Dark Lord to cast it on him.

Harry gritted his teeth.

Meanwhile, Voldemort looked at him strangely then turned away, leaving without another word and Harry watched him walk upstairs, still thinking and his heart still beating fast.

"So … I … I got it right?" Ron finally stuttered out, watching Harry and Hermione in turns.

Harry glanced at him and instantly felt much better. Ron's expression was absolutely priceless. He couldn't help but smirk a little as he said.

"Yeah ... probably. Ron, you're an absolute genius. Cleverer than Lord Voldemort. Never forget that."

Ron's chin dropped and his eyes nearly fell out of his sockets after hearing that.

"Wicked."

xxxxx

_The Shrieking Shack_

_27__th__ December 2000, 3:20_

Harry knocked on the door, waiting to see if he'd be invited inside. He dragged his feet to mark time, wishing again that his surroundings weren't charged with ugly reminiscences. It was filling him with anxiety and doubts. Everything in this place had this effect on him. He closed his eyes to focus his mind on something else, preferably more pleasant, while listening intently.

No one answered him.

Harry's lit wand dropped an inch and he lay his hand on a cold, bulky handle, speaking to the door frame.

"I'm coming in."

He entered cautiously, looking around.

The man which he came to see stood close by the boarded window, facing the wall. His head was bowed and his pale hands were folded behind his back. He didn't acknowledge Harry's presence, or if he did, Harry failed to notice.

"I brought you your bag," he said quietly. "The one with food."

Finally, a short movement. Voldemort looked at him and nodded once. It was a clear dismissal, but Harry didn't want to leave so soon. Especially after he spent five minutes reasoning with his friends about the necessity of this visit – okay, argued mostly with Ron, but still.

"Have I angered you somehow? I suppose I did, because I expected that you'll be in a better mood now that we know what Negura's weakness is."

"You don't know anything, Potter," Voldemort snapped. "You only guess it."

It was clear now. Harry didn't have to be told twice that he wasn't welcomed. The tone of the Dark Lord's voice didn't leave any space for doubts.

"Okay," Harry shrugged and shed the bag on a creaky chair beside turned to leave immediately but to his great surprise, he was stopped by a barked order.

"Wait!"

Harry halted, watching Voldemort slowly come closer. He wished it wouldn't make his heart beat so fast. If only he could hide his feelings and act with the same detachment as Riddle.

"Your theory has a certain potential. But it would be foolish to get carried away. Evidence is necessary. I know better now that one wrong presumption can easily turn into a fatal mistake," Voldemort said, his cold voice betraying no emotion.

Harry said nothing. He was going to let Voldemort speak to hear what was on his mind.

"Concerning the recent events," the Dark Lord added softly, "I appreciate what you've done for me tonight."

That was it? That was everything? Harry hardly suppressed a bitter laugh. He expected to hear a little bit more than that. Something like 'Thank you Harry, you've helped me a great deal' would be hundred times better.

He should return back to reality.

"So, do I have Lord Voldemort's gratitude now?" he asked blandly. An insipid voice was still better than a disappointed one.

The gleam in the Dark Lord's eyes weakened and he averted his sight to regard the paper which was peeling from the walls around. Harry immediately sensed that something worried him greatly for he was unusually silent and contemplative. He regretted his previous rash judgment.

"Who is Lord Voldemort without his powers...," Voldemort said with a mirthless chuckle, his voice distant and empty. "Just a shadow of his former glory. Like a reflection in the mirror … harmless and insignificant..."

Harry was stunned by what he heard. Whatever caused that mental turmoil which the Dark Lord suffered from right now, it sounded serious.

"I've never sunk this low, Potter. Never in my entire life. Even when I was disembodied and helpless like a child, I've never entirely depended upon the mercy of my enemies." His lips tightened in nearly painful expression as his mask of indifference slipped away. "This shame is … crushing."

"Enemies, you say," Harry whispered, watching him. "Do you really think that your enemy would do so much for you?"

Voldemort was taken aback for a second. His eyes slightly narrowed and he regarded Harry with that peculiar expression again.

"Yes," he finally said. "I can imagine that, if I had something the enemy desired above all. There must be something else you want from me beside the information about makes me wonder … why don't you tell me what it is, Potter?"

Harry's throat ran dry after hearing that. He didn't expect Voldemort to hit the nail on the head so fast. So the Dark Lord suspected something and Harry's first instinctual reaction was to deny everything. Maybe, if his heart wasn't furiously knocking against his ribcage, if he could pull himself together a bit, he would be able to think of some clever, acceptable answer. Hyperventilating as he was, he could stutter out.

"Nothing. There's ... nothing else I want … from you."

He looked aside before his eyes could give away this horrible lie. In truth, Harry wanted many things from him. Amazing but unspeakable things.

Either he was too slow or Voldemort saw through it anyway.

"Do not lie to me, Potter!" he snarled, drawing nearer to Harry. "Only a blind man wouldn't notice how strangely you've been acting around me of late. You're hiding something … you're being dishonest with me!"

Harry refused to look at him, holding his stance until the cold hand touched his face. The chilling feel of those silky fingers gliding over his cheek broke through Harry's resistance. Never before had he wanted to give up as much as he wanted now. Voldemort leaned closer to him and closer, until their faces were inches apart.

"Tell me what it is," he hissed softly, his calculating eyes boring into Harry's.

"Tell me, Harry," he insisted, his voice quiet and soft like a honey.

Harry was sweating, it was too much. He felt the warm breath fan his face as he watched those pearly white lips say his name and he had to close his eyes for his head was spinning. His resolve could break down at any moment. How could he pretend that he didn't want him? Where was he supposed to find that strength? His fantasies already teemed with corrupting images of hands roaming over the white, soft skin, those perfect long legs entwined with his, their shared kisses, furious and greedy, that pale hard flesh in his hand and heated mouth, the desperate moans and breathless whispers repeating his name over and over as he pinned that writhing, skinny body beneath himself...

"No, I...," he squeaked and his voice faltered. He was at his limit, mentally and physically.

If his heartbeat quickened a little bit more, he would surely collapse.

Harry quickly licked his dry lips, wiped off sweat from his brows and took a step backward.

"I said it's nothing. Ithasnothingtodowithyou," he said so fast that he became inarticulate.

"I must … Imustbegoing," he added in one breath, retreating quickly without looking at Voldemort again.

He was worried, really worried that he showed too much, allowing the Dark Lord to confirm whatever suspicion he oddly, that wasn't the worst thing by far.

Because, once outside the room which Voldemort occupied, Harry finally fully realized that he couldn't restrain his revolting body forever. Something was going to happen soon and he doubted he was prepared for its consequences.

**R&R**

_*** **__**Parseltongue**_


	6. The Breaking Point

**Author's note: **Thank you very much for all your lovely reviews! They make me happier than you think. Anyway, here's the chapter many of you have been probably waiting for. Enjoy!

Special thanks to **TheSecretUchiha **for beta-reading this and all previous chapters of this story!

Rating of this chapter:** M **(Mature content – yes, you know what that means. Not for children, the rest read at your own risk! :D )

**xxxxx**

**The Breaking Point**

xxxxx

_The Shrieking Shack_

_27__th__ December 2000, 3:32_

Harry had never backed out of anyone's room as fast as he did from Voldemort's small sanctuary. His body was completely rigid due to his unfulfilled desires, his head almost cracking along its seams as it was crammed with loads of inappropriate thoughts. Miserable as he was, he stalked off to the only place where he could be alone which was a little dingy bathroom at the end of a short, narrow corridor. Once inside, he immediately bent over the sink and washed his face and neck, attempting to slow down his quick, irregular breathing. As the tension was leaving his muscles, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cracked, faded mirror above the sink. He inhaled deeply over and over again, waiting for his mind to clear up and his body to relax. It took a couple of minutes until he straightened his shoulders again.

"What am I doing?" he breathed out, watching himself in the mirror. His reflection didn't answer, merely stared back at him, flustered and frustrated. Harry sighed, shook his head and reached out to take the paste and toothbrush which Hermione left there for him in a small pot. He leisurely brushed his teeth and combed his unruly hair, getting ready for bed.

But he couldn't leave the bathroom yet. First, he needed to deal with another, highly oppressing inconvenience. He was standing in front of an old, rusty loo, feeling that he really needed to use it, but he couldn't. One would have thought that the reason for that was its uninviting appearance, but no, his problem was far worse than that. In fact, he couldn't pee at all because he was still hard and hurting and his stiff _problem_ showed no tendency to disappear. Harry glared at his rebelling body part, wishing it would become affected by the cold air, by his tiredness or at least by his extreme reluctance to pay it any attention.

It didn't help; the overheated organ may as well be mocking him.

Harry snarled a couple of juicy swearwords which he was doing quite a lot lately. He knew he could either stand there throughout the night or simply give it up and go to bed. Picking up the second option, he fastened his pants with some difficulties and trudged back down the corridor to the small bedroom he shared with Ron. A jolt ran through his body at a mere sight of the doors on the opposite side. He had to bit his lip to suppress a heavy sigh as he turned to enter the room where Ron was probably already asleep. He was completely worn out, he just wanted to have some rest too but his agitated body still protested_._

Again, Harry suppressed a loud grunt and collapsed onto his creaking bed. He kicked off his shoes, wrapped himself in a warm blanket and sulkily waited for tiredness to win over his frustration.

Ten minutes later he was certain that his erection won't just grow limp without his assistance. He obviously had no other choice than to jerk off while thinking of _him_, if he wanted to get some decent sleep tonight.

Sighing, Harry raised his head from the pillow, careful not to make too much noise. In the soft light provided by Hermione's warm blue flames encased in a jar on the table, he could see Ron's red mane, peeping from beneath a thick blanket. His friend slept on a dusty, lacerated couch, contentedly snoring and obviously no longer stressed by inhabiting the most haunted house in Britain together with one evil dark lord.

Hermione was downstairs, on her guard duty. Harry's turn was after Ron's which should give him at least five wonderful hours of sleep. And he was wasting them like this.

Harry cursed under his breath again and slowly pushed his hand into his pants, curling his fingers around his aching flesh. Touching it felt amazing as usual; the pleasure was tingling along his spine in exactly the same way it did whenever he was easing his tension with thoughts of Ginny.

It made him feel pretty bad that the mental image of her face and body didn't help him anymore. It was a different face, different voice and different hand he was thinking of right now. A cold, hissing whisper, quiet and soft; a mouth gently grazing along his jaw-line, barely touching it as a chilling, long-fingered hand slowly moved over his heated arousal – that was all it took to make him groan loudly.

Realizing his mistake, he quickly bit into the pillow, looking over at Ron to check if he woke him or not. A soft snore which crossed the room calmed his tense nerves. Yet, he kept gnawing into his cushion in case his control slipped again. His hand moved faster now, making him sweat and tremble. He wished he could feel it for real - a hard chin rubbing against his shoulder; that fast, shallow breath on his sweaty temple; his name being repeated over and over while the bony hand continued to squeeze him mercilessly … and that _body_ pressed against his...

He remembered, feverishly, how it felt when they used to hold each other back in the cave. How disgusted he was when he _had to_ touch him during their entrapment in that horrible place. Ironically, all he could think of now was doing it again.

Instead of being scandalised, his enjoyment intensified.

Heat began to spill around his stomach and his hand began to move in a blurry speed. Pleasant warmth was replaced by a storm of pulsating fire which turned his blood into a sea of molten lava, scorching him from inside out. The next moment he was gasping for breath, arching from the bed and finishing.

"Tom...," he choked out, pressing his mouth harder into the pillow as he came in delightful spasms.

For several perfect seconds he was weightless, floating on that shimmering wave of mind-blowing pleasure which made him forget about everything and only _feel_. And then it was gone; it always ended too soon. His muscles pathetically twitched with the ebbing feeling of delight before stilling completely, leaving him sleepy and breathless.

Harry's fingers slackened around his wilting arousal and, in his post-orgasmic haze, he briefly contemplated getting up and cleaning the mess in his trousers. Sleepiness won with ease as he felt too cosy and warm under the blanket to get up and shuffle back to that grisly bathroom. He closed his eyes, finally giving up to the sweet allurement of a dreamless sleep.

xxxxx

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_27__th__ December 2000, 3:50_

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap...

The sound of her heels was picking at his nerves. The longer she was around the less he could stand her. But he had to control himself, he had to be patient. After all, he was an immortal while she would go the way all mortal flesh went in a couple of decades at most.

He pulled his hood deeper over his face. His thoughts turned to a more urgent matter. It was time to alternate his plans which were so easily thwarted by Harry Potter. Maybe there really was something unusual about that boy, something that he missed before.

He chuckled cruelly. It didn't matter if that lad was special or not. Potter wasn't the first and won't be the last one to stand in his way.

"Leader?"

Oh, here she was calling. How awful her voice sounded, sweeter than sugar. If he weren't a vampire, she would probably make him retch.

"Leader?" she repeated, irritated now. He could no longer pretend that he didn't hear her. So he stopped, waiting for her to catch up with him. How easily he could end her life, but no, his secrecy and security was much more important than that. She voiced his decisions the way he wanted and that was all he needed from her. She was the one who was responsible for everything. She was the one who'll be remembered, not him. Stupid ninny, thinking she had a power.

She halted beside him, her arms akimbo.

"Leader," she said strictly. "I must say that I am very disappointed. I had much higher expectations of you."

The vampire grounded his teeth with annoyance, but his face remained perfectly composed.

"Apologies, Minister," he breathed out, polite as always. "I simply didn't expect Harry Potter to get together a rescue team and save the murderer of his parents. It surprised me."

She tapped her foot with irritation.

"Well," she said in a high-pitched tone, "As much as I would love to agree with this _theory of yours_, I don't see you presenting me any evidence."

"I'm working on it, Minister," he said, his lips tightening.

"You're not working hard enough," she snapped and raised her hand up to adjust the big, ugly, pink ribbon on her neck. "Your results were very poor today. We could have killed You-Know-Who already if it weren't for your mistakes. If you won't get any better, I'm afraid I will have to replace you with someone more capable."

With that she turned around and strode away, keeping her chin high in a haughty manner.

"If you aren't replaced first," Negura hissed under his breath, a cold gleam appearing in his empty, dark blue eyes.

He closed them, bending his head backwards.

"Brutus," he breathed out and within few seconds a tall, dark clad, hooded person appeared before him, bowing slightly.

"Yes, My Leader?"

"Arrange the Council meeting. It's time to get things moving. Potter and the Dark Lord must not escape. They must be caught together. Only then I can get rid of that brat and capture Voldemort at once. I'm done being nice and restrained."

xxxxx

_The Shrieking Shack_

_27__th__ December 2000, later that morning_

Sometime later, Harry awoke with a jolt but it was just Hermione who came upstairs for Ron. It had to be an early morning already. Harry groaned and got up, finally paying a visit to the bathroom, where he relieved his bulging bladder and also cleaned himself. He returned to the warm bed and immediately fell asleep. When he woke again, he could see tiny rays of sunlight coming through the narrow chinks in the boarded windows. He stretched his stiff body and forced himself to sit up. Blindly, he found his glasses on a small stool next to his bed and put them on while his other hand reached for the yew wand.

He didn't even have to cast _Lumos _to see that he was alone. It was a strange discovery. Harry expected that Ron would be already back. Could something have happened to him? Why else wouldn't Ron wake him up? It surely had to be long past his turn to take the guard. Becoming nervous, he quickly put his shoes on, combed his unruly hair with his fingers and rushed downstairs.

A smell of bread, fried eggs and bacon welcomed him and his stomach responded in a hungry growl.

"Morning, Harry! Well … actually, it's almost a noon."

Harry quickly blinked the sleepiness off his eyes, slightly taken aback by Ron's unusual morning joviality. His friend's face was nearly beaming as he proudly stood by the dining table, a frying pan in one hand, a spoon in the other. He was attempting to use Hermione's enlarged magical flames to prepare their breakfast – or lunch, undisturbed by the obvious lack of success. Concerning Hermione, she was leaning over a small chest beside the half-covered window. It didn't go unnoticed by Harry that her pink cheeks were more coloured than usual and he couldn't ascribe it to the sharp morning light. She waved at him shortly and quickly returned to cutting the bread and apples.

"Morning," Harry finally replied, smirking a little. He got the hint immediately. Ron didn't come to wake him because he and Hermione wanted to spend some time together. Harry smirked for himself.

"You forgot to wake me up. I wouldn't mind helping you prepare the meal," he said, taunting his friend a little.

"Ah … well … you see...," Ron began, scratching his ear nervously, fidgeting a little. Harry watched him amused, pretending to be very curious though he was secretly smiling.

"You still need to rest more than us, Harry," Hermione said resolutely as she instantly puzzled out his little game. "Remember what Madam Pomfrey told you."

She looked serious at first, but as she came nearer with a loaded plate, Harry could see the twitching corners of her lips. He sat down on the sofa, smiling for himself.

Hermione meanwhile turned to Ron and watched his artless fumbling with the pan.

Soon she lost her nerves and reached out to take it from him.

"I'll finish it," she said, looking at him quickly.

"Um, thanks … my lady," he whispered and gave her a sweet peck on her cheek.

"Just sit down already," she breathed out, blushing more profoundly.

"My lady?" Harry asked, grinning openly as Ron sat beside him.

"Yeah, she's that awesome," he said aloud, making Hermione's face turn flaming red.

"No doubt of it," Harry smirked and just a moment later she handed him an appetizing portion of eggs and bacon. "You two surely had a remarkable morning."

"Yes," Hermione said quickly before Ron could open his mouth. "We just … yes." She clearly decided not to elaborate on it.

Thinking about that, Harry remembered with the slightest pang of shame what he had done shortly before falling asleep. Which brought his thoughts to...

"Where's Voldemort?" he asked spontaneously, making Ron choke on his morsel. It took him a couple of seconds to clear his airways and when he did, he turned to him, glowering a little.

"I don't know. Luckily, I haven't seen him from yesterday's evening."

"I haven't seen him too," Hermione added with a significantly less amount of repulsion in her voice.

"I should go check on him. You know … if everything's all right," Harry made an instant decision, pushing the plate away so he could get up.

"Harry," Ron rolled his eyes. "Why don't you finish your meal first? I'm sure that that freakin' murderer can wait five more minutes, can't he?"

Harry wanted to protest, but then it occurred to him that an argument with Ron would take much longer than eating what was left on his plate. So he merely nodded, chewing twice as fast as before.

"So," Ron continued, making himself more comfortable on the sofa. "I was wondering about Negura's Horcrux. What do you think it could be?"

Harry couldn't answer for he momentarily had a fork in his mouth. He could only attentively listen to Hermione's response.

"It's too early to consider it, Ron. We aren't even sure that he has one. But even if he had, we still don't understand him enough to discuss what that object would be."

"Well," Ron murmured, gulping loudly before taking another mouthful.

"I just thought it could be something powerful and symbolic. He's a dark lord's hunter, right? He would want his Horcrux to remind him that. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry wiped his lips on a napkin and moved the already empty plate from his lap onto the table.

"As long as that Horcrux isn't me and neither of you two, I can deal with almost anything."

"Yeah, but that's not..."

"Hermione's right, Ron," Harry said calmly. "We must _understand _Negura first. Until we do, it's useless to try any guesses. But if you want to know my opinion so much, I would prefer to think that his Horcrux would remind him the reason for his everlasting revenge."

"And what do you think that object would be?" Ron asked curiously.

"I don't know yet," Harry said. "First, we have to find out other things... For example, how he views his victims? What's the way he thinks? Because his actions still doesn't make much sense to me. Do you remember how Voldemort killed his whole army, which was hundreds of vampires, yet Negura didn't seem to care? But then, he nearly cried for that woman … what was her name?" Harry quickly looked at Hermione.

"Leontina," she said quietly.

"Right, Leontina … why was she so special? What was so important about her? Another thing. From what we saw and discovered, one would have thought that he has - or had - _a crush_ on Voldemort."

Harry tried to ignore Ron's utterly disgusted grimace as he quickly continued. "Isn't it strange? Why a vampire, so intent on killing every dark lord, would want to make Riddle his equal? Why would he want him to keep his powers?"

Ron looked truly confused by this, thinking it over and over, but Hermione was watching Harry meaningfully. Harry felt that stare and it made him uncomfortable.

"I mean," he quickly continued, "he was married to some girl once. Also, that Leontina … she was very special to him as well. One would have thought that he preferred..."

Hermione's stare intensified.

"Never mind. Negura cannot have any real feelings. He's a vampire, he's dead," Harry said hastily. He desperately searched for some arguments which would make her agree with him and stop looking at him like that.

"A part of his soul is still possibly alive," Hermione whispered quietly.

"But he cannot feel it; he cannot love anything for real! Dumbledore told me so when we discussed Voldem...," his voice faltered and he hastily reached for a cup of tea on the table, quickly drinking to hide his emotional slip.

"Do you think that Dumbledore was absolutely right about everything?" she asked quietly, watching him intently. "According to me, he used his observations to construct his theories, which is certainly a clever thing to do. However, even the best observations do not necessarily have to show the entire truth and I'm sure Dumbledore knew that."

The cup in Harry's hand began to shake and he quickly put it back on the table. He wasn't looking at her. He couldn't.

"Hermione," Ron muttered in an astounded voice. "What are you talking about?"

Harry felt that she finally stopped watching him and turned to Ron instead.

"Ah, nothing, really," she said lightly, but Harry noticed that her voice was a bit off.

"Don't say things like that again," Ron mumbled, still somewhat uncomfortable. "It sounded as if you were trying to imply that You-Know-Who is capable of ..."

...

"Of what?" a cold voice cut the tense atmosphere.

Harry started so much that he might have actually choked on his heart.

Soft steps approached them slowly, halting somewhere behind him. Harry was embarrassed that he couldn't bring himself to turn his head and look at him. He only hugged his chest and squeezed it as if he tried to protect his ribcage from being shattered by that madly beating muscle inside.

"It's very _amusing_ to listen to mudblood's and a blood traitor's attempts to psychoanalyze Lord Voldemort."

His voice didn't sound amused at all.

Harry finally took in a deep breath, overcoming his brief stupor. He looked at him briefly and said in a voice which came out unusually high.

"Good morning, Tom. Came to join us?"

He didn't wait until Riddle could turn to him and rather began to play with the cup in his hands. Only every now and then he cast a quick glance aside to see if Voldemort was still watching him or not.

"Oh, what a pleasant morning, indeed," the Dark Lord sneered. "Only a pity that I couldn't overhear your conversation."

Harry's heart thudded in his ears. He was only half-listening, because his feverish thoughts were burning holes in his head.

_Was __Voldemort__ able to decipher what __whirled in his head__ the last time they saw each other? _

_Did he comprehend the reason behind his blabbering? _

_If yes, what to do now? How to behave?_

Harry didn't know and he didn't _want to_ know. He would prefer to crawl into some hole and die there. Only he momentarily couldn't find any suitable place.

And so he took another deep breath, looking at Ron, who meanwhile got up from the sofa and dragged Hermione away to safe distance from the Lord's menacing presence.

Voldemort fortunately kept the similar distance from them _and_ Harry which bothered the youngster as much as it helped him. His mad heartbeat gradually slowed down and he could breathe a little more easily, thought the thoughts and doubts stayed the same. Voldemort didn't pay him attention. He took the pan with the rest of their food and brought it to the window where Hermione cut the bread. His tall figure bend down as he looked out, watching the glittering snowy scenery, while eating the rest of their meal. He didn't speak again which filled the room with unpleasant silence.

And Harry couldn't tear his eyes off him. Just the way he moved his body was exquisite. Harry was sure that even the most accomplished actor would fail horribly if he was asked to imitate the grace and fineness of his movements.

It made him desperate – this attraction that he felt. He didn't know he was able to feel it this strong.

Voldemort suddenly turned to him and Harry's heart faltered again. Partly because of his desire but most of all because he was surprised. It was for the first time this morning their eyes met. Harry couldn't miss that unhealthy tiredness deeply etched into Voldemort's tense features. It was alarming and unsettling sight.

"Do you feel unwell?"

He had to ask this. By the corner of his eye he saw how Ron cast a surprised glance at him but he pretended that he hadn't seen it.

Voldemort's response was as curt and bitter as he expected.

"Oh yes," he hissed acidly. "As a matter of fact I do. Shall I count the reasons one by one or can you guess by yourself?"

The Dark Lord looked away too soon, which made Harry strangely uncomfortable. He immediately feared that it had something to do with the morning incident. His insides tightened with apprehension again.

_He had to be mad at him.__He__had to__have __seen __his__ mind. D__id he__ despise __him__ now?_

"Tell your … _friends_ to leave," Voldemort said coldly all of a sudden.

"What?" Ron snapped irritated, turning to Harry who quickly woke from his muse.

"If he wants to tell me something important then we should..."

He didn't finish for Voldemort bluntly interrupted him.

"Tell them to leave this place, Potter. Tell them to return to the castle!"

Harry probably missed something or Voldemort simply didn't care to explain it. Either way Harry wanted to know what that meant.

"Why? Because you don't approve of their presence?" he asked, bitter just like Ron a moment ago.

"Not because of that, Potter!" Voldemort snarled. "What you refuse to see is that Negura's after you too now! He's clever, tricky and _dangerous_. He thinks in advance and he surely has another plan which he already set in motion. If you want to fight him, you must be prepared for it. You must know that he avoids honourable fights and unnecessary duels. He failed to kill you yesterday and so he will destroy you some other way. He will damage your credit, he will send the Aurors against you and all he's waiting for is the smallest mistake on your side. If they stay here, you'll give him evidence that you're helping me. In my state of health I couldn't possibly overpower and kidnap three armed magicians. If they won't return soon, Negura will have the proof he's waiting for. And he will use it, don't doubt it!"

Harry froze in his seat.

"I can't just...," he muttered, confused by so many information to be able to quickly decide.

"Don't listen to him, Harry! He wants us to split! He's planned something nasty, I'll bet. We won't leave you here with him alone! Never!" Ron snarled, but quickly quietened when the Dark Lord cast the coldest of his glares at him. He spoke as if he were a snake was spitting its venom.

"Again, I have to wonder how very unusual your _friends ____are_, Potter. It seems that the blood traitor wants you dead. Maybe he thinks that you have too much wizarding blood in your veins to be preserved..."

"WHAT?-!" Ron screamed, his face immediately becoming ruddier than his hair. He pulled out his wand in flash, pointing it up...

"No!" Harry yelped and rushed to him, but Ron stood too far away. Fortunately, Hermione caught his arm in the last second. "Don't," she whispered softly.

"But...!" Ron gritted his teeth. "I can't _stand_ him!"

"I know it's difficult," Harry nodded. "Just keep trying, _please_!"

Then he turned to Riddle, coming closer to him, his stare accusatory.

"Stop doing this at once, will you?-! Or are you _that_ suicidal?"

Voldemort's upper lip curved a little.

"The question is, are you, Potter? Ignore my advice and you will not have much time left for regret."

"I … I don't _need_ your guidance!" Harry sputtered indignantly.

Voldemort's lips tightened for a second and something flashed in those scarlet eyes. Harry was still breathing wildly, but his agitation was already leaving him under the intensity of that heated gaze. What was it in his eyes? Disappointment? Or resignation? Harry almost wished he could take back what he just said.

"Very well," Voldemort snapped, his cold hiss breaking through Harry's consternation. His black robes swirled and left them alone as briskly as he appeared. He didn't say another word, which affected Harry more than he thought it would.

There was a brief, tense silence which lasted until Hermione whispered softly.

"I didn't expect this."

"Expect what?" Ron asked, still teaming with anger. "That he was going to attack us – at least verbally? Then I must say that I saw this coming, Hermione."

"No," she shook her head, slightly irritated. "You really haven't noticed anything?"

Both boys looked at each other and then back at her.

"Noticed what?" they asked at the same time.

"He may detest me and Ron … but … apparently ... he cares about what's going to happen to you, Harry."

The first reaction, which Harry nearly voiced aloud, was a laugh of disbelief. But then he remembered the _hurt _in that stare and the bitter mirth died on his lips.

Harry could only gape at the empty staircase in silence.

How could he miss this message? How could he be so blind?

He struggled to name the feelings which suddenly flooded him, but no words were coming. It was so strangely intoxicating experience that it made his head spin. He wanted to laugh out aloud without any reason except of...

_He cared about him. _

The impossible, marvellous, fantastic thing just happened and almost passed without his notice. How could he feel so miserable just a moment ago when _he cared about him? _

Harry felt that a very stupid grin appeared on face and he couldn't get it off, no matter how hard he tried.

"Anyway," Hermione continued and Harry struggled to listen to her. "I think we should at least consider what he said."

Ron groaned in disagreement.

"No way! Whatever he told us doesn't change the _fact_ that he is a murderer! He's just as dangerous as that vampire! Don't forget he's tried to kill Harry at least a hundred times!"

Hermione looked at Ron and then back at Harry and then her lips surprisingly curved upwards.

"Sure you're right, Ron. However, I think I have a plan."

xxxxx

Hermione's plan made Harry anxious and Ron angry. Scratch that. It made Harry terrified and Ron furious. Harry couldn't understand at first how could someone as clever as Hermione came up with something so haywire and dangerous and _unnecessary_.

"You aren't going anywhere," he snarled under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not when Negura's out there hell-bent on finding us and killing us."

"Of course she isn't going anywhere," Ron accentuated. "And if she is, so am I and so are you, Harry."

Hermione finished dressing into her tight-fitting cloak and fastened a shaggy wrapper around her delicate neck.

"It's a mid-day," she said calmly, watching both boys unruffled. "Vampires are dormant over the daytime. Sun hurts their skin."

"Yeah, but Negura isn't an ordinary vampire. Sun doesn't affect him much, we already know it. Besides, as a Ministry employee, he has to work over the day!" Ron protested.

"True, but he's the only one of them who can, right?" Hermione said calmly.

"He's the dark lord's hunter, Hermione! I do not want to discount any of your remarkable abilities, but you surely do not think that you could fight him off!"

"I'm not planning on fighting him, Ron! I'm just going back to castle to find out what's going on. If Negura has a back-up plan as You-Know-Who said, then we should know about it. Also, I would like to know what happened to your family, to our friends and to the Order. Once there, I would lay a false trail for Negura's spies. Beside those who we can trust I'll let the others know that Harry's missing," she glanced at him shortly, "and that you're searching for him, which should convince them that Harry was kidnapped by Voldemort."

She met Ron's eyes, but instead of agreement he shook his head.

"It's too risky. We can contact the Order without that bloodsucking freak knowing about it. We should stay together. Let's leave this place and go into hiding like we did before. We have the information we needed so let's start searching for Negura's Horcrux!"

"It's not a good idea, Ron. As I told you already, we don't know practically anything about him yet! Harry...," she sighed and turned to him and so did Ron, waiting for his decision.

"We cannot leave yet. Voldemort still didn't regain his powers," Harry said solemnly.

"And?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Without our magical protection Negura would find him and kill him!"

"And?" Ron asked as if it was a bad thing.

Harry internally seethed.

"That freak would turn him into one of his subservient vampiric bootlickers and he would use _him_ as a weapon against us. Is that a good reason enough or shall I say something more – probably about how none of us would be standing here if Voldemort didn't bother to _save us_!"

"He didn't came to Grimmauld Place on a rescue mission, Harry!"

"Whatever, but still … we're alive only thanks to him!"

"Boys," Hermione whispered. "Leave it alone. Harry, what do you suggest?"

Harry closed his eyes, focusing fully to keep his voice neutral.

"Both of you should go back to the castle, contact the Order and stay safe. I'll wait here until Riddle recovers and then join you."

"Stay here … with him … alone? Are you nuts?" Ron gasped for breath.

"Ron, you're forgetting that I've already spend a week with him … alone in a dark, damp cave."

"But that was different!"

"How?"

"We … we didn't know where you were … we couldn't _help_ you!"

"Thanks Ron," Harry breathed out. "But you really don't have to help me with this."

"I'm not leaving you here," the red-haired young man protested. "That's out of question."

The short silence was disrupted by Hermione, who cleared her throat.

"It's settled then," she said quietly. "I'm going to the castle. I'll be back tomorrow morning."

"Hermione!" Ron moaned, desperate.

"I'll be all right," she smiled gently. "That's a promise."

She hugged her boyfriend and kissed him gently on lips while Harry, who stood aside, grumbled.

"If anything happens to you, I'll never forgive myself."

"A good reason to be extra careful," she smirked, but Harry still glowered.

"Hermione," he said then, turning his eyes to the floor. "I would be really much happier if you stayed."

"Harry, this is my decision," she said calmly and Harry flinched a bit as he heard Ron's painful sigh.

"Okay … just … before you leave, I wanted to ask one thing. Do you have any idea ...why … well, why isn't he getting any better?"

"Are you talking about You-Know-Who _now_?" Ron's eyebrows shot upwards.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, staring at the tips of his shoes.

"Come on, Harry! Why?-! Why are you so worried about _him_? As if he were some damsel in distress you have to protect! It's Y_ou-Know-Who_, dammit! I still haven't forgotten about that 'Do you feel unwell?' part!"

"Just ignore it, Ron. Seriously. Don't let it bother you," Harry whispered and his eyes found Hermione's.

"Fine," Ron shook his head in disbelief. "I just don't think you'd be talking the same if it were you instead of Neville with a knife cutting through your neck."

Harry just nodded, not willing to argue with Ron now. He still watched Hermione, even as Ron passed them to look out of the half-covered window.

"So?" Harry asked carefully.

"Well," she said, biting her lower lip. "I guess that the speed of recovery usually depends on the extent of the trauma. Deprivation of magic is known to have a vast impact on magician's health. For all I know, the healing process requires a lot of energy so I assume that what he's lacking now is emotional and physical rest."

"What can I do about it?" Harry asked quietly, so his question couldn't stir up another rant from Ron.

"I don't know," she whispered back. "You can hardly do much more than you already did, Harry."

"I can't just stay here and watch him wither. What if he won't get better?"

"He will," she breathed out, glancing over his shoulder at Ron.

"And what if he doesn't?" Harry whispered back.

A soft veil of sadness darkened her kind face.

"You have to believe it, Harry."

Harry bent his head again.

"Thanks," he said. "Be very careful, please."

She nodded and Harry briefly hugged her before going upstairs so she could say goodbye to Ron in a more intimate way, undisturbed.

As he passed the doors to Voldemort's room, he felt a strong urge to simply knock at them, step inside and apologize for that recent misapprehension. Just a feeling that he wasn't welcomed stopped him from doing it.

He returned to his bedroom, sitting down on his bed heavily, supporting his head in his palms. How would they survive a day without Hermione he didn't know. With this tense atmosphere where Ron was surely mad at him for making Hermione leave _and_ being mad at Voldemort for the same and thousands of weightier reasons, Voldemort being mad at the whole world and Harry being mad at himself for he felt that everything was his fault, there was probably no way they could make it through the next hour.

Contemplation of who was right and who was wrong, the correctness of his decision which brought Hermione in danger, and Voldemort's questionable state of health showing signs of relapse, all of it caused so much anxiety in him that it stifled his breath. He rose to his feet and began to pace around, desperately seeking some kind of distraction. Then his eyes fell on a small, black cabinet in the corner. Giving in his curiosity, he decided to explore what was hidden inside. He came over and knelt down, observing its rough, dusty surface, dull paint and dirty brazen handle. He pulled at it and the creaky hatch fell open, revealing the interior. It was stuffed with old, battered books and parchments, some of them already getting mouldy under a thick layer of dust and spider webs.

It had to be Lupin's old textbooks, Harry realized. He probably used to study here when he wasn't in his wolf form or didn't suffer the pain of transformation. Something tugged at his heart as he reached out and pulled one of those books outside, blowing the dust away. He could almost see Lupin's scarred face in the folds of the fissured leather. Poor Teddy, he instantly thought of that small, smiling, lovely child … an orphan. He wasn't fulfilling his duties as a godfather very well. But what could he do? Risk little Teddy's life as he dragged him along on this crusade he called life or keep him in the good, loving care of the Weasleys and Neville's grandmother?

All in all, he still felt that he was only getting angry at himself again. He rather quickly opened the book and read.

_Fundamentals of advanced defensive magic, Volume I. _

Harry found the book slightly familiar; he probably read it before, when he was studying for his belated N.E.W.T. exams. Well, he didn't remember reading the _whole_ book, maybe just the first couple of chapters. He could as well continue where he stopped. It could serve as a good distraction and he would be at least doing something with the stagnant level his knowledge had reached.

Three hours later Harry felt totally brainwashed and tired. He decided to stop torturing himself any further and rather go downstairs to see what Ron was doing. Maybe he was no longer sore about Hermione's departure, though Harry really doubted it.

As he passed the doors to Riddle's room, his heart jumped in his chest form habit. He should be angry at himself because of it, but he wasn't. There were another things which bothered him much more than that – such as not seeing him at all. Voldemort was avoiding him, there was no doubt of it. Either because he felt sick, or because he was still annoyed by how Harry had snapped at him before or maybe … because of that early morning incident. Harry sighed as he shuffled downstairs. Everything would be so much easier if he knew which one of those reasons made Voldemort hate him right now.

Fortunately, to Harry's great relief, Ron wasn't as ill disposed as before. The rest of resentment he felt wasn't directed towards him, but Hermione. Though Harry was happy that Ron talked to him, he would be happier if he blamed him, not her.

They spent the afternoon together, chatting, playing wizarding chess, discussing Negura's possible strategies, preparing dinner, which was the most funny part, because Ron definitely wasn't meant to become a chef. The Potion lessons with Snape proved that he shouldn't approach anything which remotely resembled a cauldron. Luckily, Harry was used to cooking for the Dursleys, so they weren't condemned to starve.

Only once during the whole afternoon Voldemort came downstairs, sending Harry's mind and body into a frenzy. On the outside, he fought not to show any reaction. He just watched him come to the large pot on the table, pour the constantly warm tea into his cup and walk away without a single glance in his direction. That was all. No words were said, no glances were exchanged. The feeling of ease Harry had a moment ago was gone. If Voldemort cared about him as he – _as Hermione_ – thought, then why didn't he talk to him? Or why didn't he show him that he was mad at him? Why didn't he do anything at all?

Harry wanted to scream and break furniture in fury and desperation. It was so unfair! How could he end up affected like this, while the bastard stayed completely indifferent?

"Stop doing that, Harry," Ron whispered, leaning to him.

Harry blinked in surprise, tearing his eyes off the empty staircase.

"Stop doing what?"

"Stop staring at him all the time. I know that you're just being precautious, but … I don't want you to cause yourself some serious brain damage."

"Brain damage? From what?" Harry asked, confused.

"Oh, come on," Ron smirked. "Just looking at him must be potentially dangerous."

"Very funny, Ron," Harry groaned and rolled his eyes, but he felt a little better. Ron somehow knew how to ease his most oppressive pain, so he could deal with the rest.

And Harry tried to deal with it. He spent the rest of the evening in silent contemplation of whether Riddle was getting better or not and if he still hated him. Partly, he was aware of Ron talking about Hermione, voicing aloud his anxiety, showing that he forgave her for her departure. It made Harry uncomfortable for he didn't know if he was more worried about her or the Dark Lord.

"She'll be back in the morning," Harry whispered to him, staring into the blue flames she conjured.

"Yeah," Ron muttered, his eyes bleary. "But thinking about her being alone … out there..."

"She's in the castle with the rest of the Order. She's safe," Harry said resolutely.

Ron didn't answer, just stared ahead too, shaking his head a little. "I wish I didn't argue with her … I wish she would be back already."

"You're tired, Ron," Harry said quietly. "You didn't sleep much last night. Just go to bed, it's my turn to take the guard."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Ron finally muttered and leaned over to Hermione's travelling bag, pulling out a warm blanket.

"Would you mind if I stayed down here?" he asked. "You know … if she came back sooner..."

"No problem," Harry nodded.

"Here's a Sneakoscope," Ron said, handing him a small round object wrapped in something what looked like an old handkerchief. "Don't take it in your hand, Hermione bewitched it so it works only when you touch it. It's quite useless here, unless you want it whistling all the time. Not too surprising when we consider that You-Know-Who's upstairs. But maybe you can use it when he falls asleep – well, if he can sleep in the first place, which is a question."

"He can," Harry muttered.

"And here's a Trace Charm Detector. I don't know how it works, but it should warn you if someone performed magic nearby."

"How close?" Harry asked, taking the strange object into his hand. It reminded him a wire from a light-bulb, only bigger and made of glass. It glittered.

"I don't know," Ron shrugged his shoulders. "Look, if you have any doubts, wake me up."

"Sure," Harry nodded again.

"Is the second jar still upstairs?" Ron asked and yawned.

"The one with flames," he elucidated when Harry didn't immediately get what he was talking about.

"I think so," he said. "Shall I bring it down?"

"Well, yeah. I just … I would take this one. It's pretty cold in here," Ron said, rubbing his fingers to stimulate his blood circulation.

When Ron mentioned it, Harry realized that his fingertips were chilling too. The room temperature couldn't be much above the freezing point. Quite uncomfortable, really.

And just as he thought that, an idea struck him like a lightening, making him jump from the sofa.

"Take it. I'll fetch the other one. Good night Ron," Harry said quickly and lightened up the tip of the yew wand.

"G'night, Harry. Wake me in three hours, 'kay?" Ron muttered, unaware of a sudden change in Harry's mood. He reached for the jar and tucked in under the blanket. His eyes were already half-closed when his head hit the pillow.

Harry seized the Dark Detectors, quickly coming – nearly running upstairs. His mind was reeling as he burst into the bedroom.

Weeks ago when Voldemort saved his life for the first time, Harry was astounded. He couldn't understand why his archenemy decided to risk so much for him. At that time Voldemort told him that saving him was preferable to freezing to death. Riddle probably suffered from cold even when the others found the temperature fairly adequate. Considering his physical constitution, it was not overly surprising. Harry wondered why it didn't occur to him earlier. He spent hours and hours chatting with Ron about trivialities, basking in warmth of magical flames and not even once considering the reason behind Voldemort's sickness and tiredness. Hermione couldn't guess it right, because she didn't know about it, but he should have. Voldemort had to be freezing to bone now.

He grasped the jar which stood beside his bed and hurried outside to halt in front of the entrance to Riddle's ward.

Heat was warming his hands, relaxing his taut muscles except one. His tongue remained tied. He didn't have the slightest idea of what he would say once inside.

Gulping idly, he reached out and knocked on the door softly, politely waiting for an invitation. No one answered him, just like the last time. Harry took a deep breath, seized the handle and opened the door.

"Voldemort?" he breathed out insecurely, stepping inside, raising the lit wand above his head so he could see better. A soft click behind his back told him that the door closed by itself.

The room seemed to be empty.

For one silly moment Harry thought that Voldemort had left, simply disappeared without telling anyone. Then his rational side kicked in, informing him that he could hardly go anywhere far in his condition.

Holding his breath, Harry moved further into the room, his eyes running over the walls and furniture, until they fell on a long, dark purple couch.

And his heart stuttered.

There he slept. Soundlessly, covered by his own long robes. Harry could see the shape of his body curled under the black cloth, he could see the small pieces of his marble white skin peeping from beneath it.

Tom.

Harry's lips moved but no sound escaped them. He didn't voice it aloud, he just caressed that name on his tongue.

His heart went crazy in his chest, but he didn't care. Slowly, he approached the couch and knelt next to it. He couldn't simply describe what he felt in that moment. It was something between apprehension and pure joy. But he enjoyed it nevertheless. His eyes could run over the planes and curves of his body without anyone controlling whether it was appropriate or not. They were alone...

Just thinking of it made Harry's hand twitch in urge to touch him. He bit his knuckles to fight back that desire. Waking him up wasn't worth it. He would only ruin this precious moment. Voldemort wouldn't want him here for sure.

But for now, as it was, he could linger here for a short while.

Harry breathed in deeply through his nose - and then sniffed. It took him by surprise that he scented a familiar, sweet and totally unexpected smell of raspberries in the air. He leaned closer to Voldemort and indeed – the fruity odour intensified. Harry found it amusing and confusing at once, until his eyes dropped to the floor. He nearly laughed out aloud then.

Right beside the couch stood a small, opened jar with a small spoon sticking out of it. Its content was quite obvious. Dark red and jellylike, this was unquestionably the main source of that lovely fragrance.

Harry couldn't remember packing a raspberry jam, but in the tremendous haste with which he tossed everything he found on the kitchen table into the bag, there was no reason to be overly surprised. He pulled the teaspoon out of the jar, brought it to his lips and licked away the viscid substance, enjoying its rich and sappy taste.

A mere thought of Voldemort's mouth surrounding the very same piece of cold metal made him tremble. Heat began to pool in his groins. Harry bit into the spoon to hold back a groan. Once he regained some feeble control over himself, he extracted it from his clenched teeth, pushed it back into the jam and moved the small jar aside.

And his eyes returned to him, to the Dark Lord, who lay without the slightest movement on the couch. Only the tiny flutter of the robes covering his face and the barely noticeable way his chest rose and fell indicated that the man was breathing. Harry allowed himself one sinful thought of stroking that chest lightly and kissing that mouth, delving in and extracting more of that juicy taste.

The softest sigh escaped his lips. He reached out without thinking and his trembling fingers carefully seized the hem of the silky black cloth, pulling it down, away from his face.

He had to see him, even if he should wake him in the process.

Voldemort stayed motionless. It was beyond Harry's understanding how that was possible. He would be more prone to believe that Riddle was faking his slumber but as far as he could see, there wasn't any reason why he would do that and considering his seriously weakened condition, maybe Voldemort really was still in the realm of dreams.

Harry would love to know what he was dreaming about. He looked so … peaceful. How unexpected to find this word so fitting for Lord Voldemort. The youngster chuckled quietly.

The Dark Lord also looked much better than this morning. Harry was immensely glad that Hermione seemed to be right about this. The sight of him was strangely pleasant and calming and Harry could easily watch him for hours, observing every tiny detail he missed before. He smirked as he remembered Ron mentioning brain damage. Maybe it was too late for him anyway for it was beyond his comprehension how Ron could ever find his appearance gruesome. Riddle's face was fairly attractive. Actually, he was far more _sexy_ than any of the girls (and boys) he met yesterday in Hogwarts.

Harry couldn't care less that Voldemort's nose was flat, serpentine, with slit-like nostrils. It suited him pretty well anyway. He was bald, true, but dammit, it would be a crime to hide even an inch of that prefect skin under some mane. And those eyes … those terrifying scarlet eyes which haunted him in his dreams when he was a child … they no longer frightened him. For a moment, he wished he could see that pair of gleaming rubies, but then, maybe it was better that they remained hidden behind the pearly white eyelids.

As for his mouth...

The tiniest line indicating the edge of his lips was so delicate that Harry had to lean forward to see it better. They seemed non-existent from a distance due to the lack of any colour. It made Harry wonder how he could make a bit of tinge return into them. Actually, he had a couple of good ideas.

His hand unconsciously gripped at his knee.

Harry inwardly swore as he realized that this was a lost cause. At this point, he couldn't imagine himself leaving without a kiss, even if it should be the slightest peck on his lips. Now, when he was officially insane, it wasn't such a big deal.

Leaning closer, he felt a soft aroma of raspberries fan his face again. It was all Harry needed to stop thinking completely, take a hold of that narrow chin and gently press their lips together. Even if Voldemort woke up in that moment and wrenched his head off in fury, Harry was sure he would die happy.

It was pleasant, chilling, soft and wet - just like eating a raspberry ice cream. The taste of forbidden fruit indeed. Harry remembered that when he was a child and the summer days were impossibly hot, he used to beg his aunt and uncle to buy him an ice cream. They never did, everything always went to their son, Dudley.

Maybe that was why he couldn't stop right now.

Harry pressed his mouth a little harder, feeling the lips beneath his suddenly move.

The spell was broken at once and Harry quickly raised his head, afraid that Voldemort was finally awake.

He watched him, silent and tense, dreading the Lord's reaction. It was a mystery to him what was he supposed to say or do after kissing a man. Up to now he only flirted with women.

Fortunately, Voldemort showed no other signs of being awake. His breathing levelled out, sinking back into the same slow rhythm as before. Harry remained in a kneeling position for a few more minutes, anxious of touching him again. Ultimately, his desire to feel that silky skin won and he carefully lay his palm on that cold, soft cheek.

"Amazing," he whispered, moving his fingers in slow caresses before dropping his hand down to seize the almost forgotten jar of encapsulated flames. He lifted the robes from Voldemort's shoulders, placed the heat-radiating glass carefully against his chest, fixing it in between his crossed arms and then he covered him again.

He leaned down, kissing him lightly on his forehead and finally rose to his feet.

"Good night, Tom," he whispered and left as quietly as possible.

What he, however, couldn't see was the pair of gleaming red eyes boring into his retreating back all the way across the room.

xxxxx

_The Shrieking Shack_

_27__th__ December 2000, 22:20_

Harry sighed and closed the textbook. Even skimming through the pages was immeasurably tiresome. He had a hard time trying to understand the stuff he read, especially that nonsensical part about the flow of magical energy. It was so abstract and far from reality that he couldn't quite imagine what that was good for. He doubted that anyone could really feel their magic circulate beneath their skin. Honestly, he expected Lupin's textbooks to be a little more illuminating and beneficial.

Harry cast it aside and huddled himself deeper into the blanket, searching for some comfortable position. Not only was he cold, but that old, hard couch he was sitting on was hurting his back. He could deal with a certain amount of discomfort, but this was too much. Frankly, the only good thing about this was that his sore backside and the constant chill kept him awake.

Harry sighed again, suppressing a yawn. He still had to make it through the next hour until his guard duty was finally over. His eyes roamed over the room until they fell on a small object wrapped in the handkerchief beside him. Harry freed his left hand from the warm quilt and untied the bundle. Carefully, he seized the Pocket Sneakoscope, watching it from the close range. He expected to see it light up and spin, but it remained quiet and still like the whole Shack. It was more suspicious than reassuring. Harry closed his eyes, listening to any sound he could discern, but the only thing he thought he heard was Ron's loud snoring coming from the downstairs.

Maybe Riddle was still asleep and therefore the detector couldn't see him, he wondered. Or maybe - Harry chuckled - maybe he wasn't untrustworthy anymore. The youngster shook his head at that thought. No, he just momentarily wasn't plotting anything against him.

The door into his bedroom suddenly creaked and Harry looked up, dropping the Sneakoscope that instant. The person he was just thinking about leisurely stepped inside, surveying the room attentively. The handle clicked as the door closed and Lord Voldemort leaned against it, finally looking at Harry, watching him with cold detachment. His face was stiff like a mask.

Harry wasn't bothered that Riddle didn't even snarl a greeting. He had more urgent matters to deal with, such as an impending cardiac arrest.

Harry's mouth grew dry, torrid almost, his lips agglutinated, refusing to part themselves. Only after what seemed like an endless moment he finally forced them apart and gasped for breath. His eyes were fixed to Voldemort, but instead of paying attention to his icy stare, Harry was distracted by his unusual outfit. The Dark Lord's robes were unbuttoned all the way down, including his tight, turtle-neck vest, revealing the silky black shirt and perfectly fitting high-waist pants there under.

Harry's mouth turned even drier. Why for Merlin's sake Voldemort didn't groom himself before coming here? And why was he glaring at him so much? Why didn't he say anything yet?

Getting nervous Harry glanced aside, noticing that Riddle brought back the jar with flames. Maybe he didn't want it because he was frustrated that it was Hermione who conjured it. Yes, that must be the reason why he came here.

"You … ehm … you can put it on the table … if you don't want it anymore," Harry rasped, his tongue sticking to his palate.

To his surprise, the Dark Lord moved according to his wish. He came closer, elegant as always, put the jar on the table with a loud thud and then looked back at Harry, his eyes fierce.

"I guess that...," Harry tried to speak again, "I've never apologized for yapping at you this morning … and … anyway … Hermione said that you may be right about Negura having some other plan so … she went back to the castle … and … also…"

"I was awake, Potter."

His voice cut the air like a sword, bringing all Harry's mind processes to a sudden halt. His mouth still idly moved, making him look like a fish out of water.

If there was one thing Harry could wish in that moment, it would be the floor splitting open and devouring him whole before the mortification he felt could crush him into pieces.

"You were … what?" he stuttered out in a voice which he didn't recognize as his own.

"Don't play dumb!" Riddle snarled, coming closer. His red eyes shone with unusual intensity, making Harry inwardly shrink. Briefly, he wondered how Voldemort planned to punish him for that _harassment_. Deciding that he probably knew already, he raised his head and said.

"Why the delay? You could have killed me immediately."

He felt much more confident when discussing a familiar topic.

Voldemort was within his reach now, towering above him with a peculiar, hardly decipherable expression written in his face.

"I was curious," he said, his voice suddenly very soft. "I wanted to know what you intended to do to me."

"Oh," Harry choked as a very naughty image involving stripping him down and having his dirty little way with him popped up in his mind. He looked away, flustered.

Voldemort took it a sign to continue. He tilted his head to one side, watching Harry with growing interest.

"Imagine my surprise," he whispered, "when I felt … your lips against mine."

Harry's face slowly headed towards the colour of a ripe tomato.

"I wonder … why would The Chosen One want do something like that?"

Cold fingers curled around his chin, forcing him to look up into his blazing scarlet eyes.

"Why would he want to _kiss_ Lord Voldemort?"

That soft whisper felt like a caress, but Harry didn't miss the hidden malice behind those words.

"You kissed me first," he strained through his teeth.

Surprisingly, Voldemort didn't deny that fact.

"Indeed. I did that to mock you for the first time and to show Negura my control over you for the second time. Does that mean that you wanted the same - to see me humiliated?"

"NO!" Harry yelped, horrified by the course of Riddle's thoughts. He freed his chin from the firm grasp and looked aside.

"No, I didn't want that," he whispered quickly. "Let's pretend it never happened, okay? I'll make sure not to do that again if that's what's bothering you so much."

"And if I say that it did not bother me?"

Harry reflexively dug his fingers into the rough denim of his jeans, feeling his nails scratch his skin through the fabric. Slowly, he looked up to meet the scorching gaze, his breath halting in his windpipe. Voldemort stood so close to him that all he had to do was to reach out and touch him. Blood boiled in his veins and rustled in his ears.

"What …. do you mean?" he whispered, choking.

The chilling hands suddenly grasped his shoulders and pushed him forcefully into the backrest. One of those fantastically long legs came to kneel on the couch beside him and Riddle bent down a little. His face wasn't more than a foot above Harry's as he spoke to him again.

"It's my turn to ask questions and get answers, Potter," he hissed icily.

"I..."

Harry's voice broke. He couldn't go on. It was too much for his poor nerves and frustrated body.

The slit pupils, which watched him with such intensity, narrowed and then suddenly expanded.

"Tell m... _oh_."

That was unexpected. Voldemort had never said 'oh' in such a tone before. Harry idly wondered what made the Dark Lord gasp like _that_.

What he found even more fascinating was the slightest flush appearing on that pallid face and those white lips parting in a wordless shock.

Harry, feeling a new surge of heat running through him, squeezed his fingers a little harder. Oddly, he felt no pain, even though he felt the flesh getting stiffer under his tightening clutch. Curious about why his right leg suddenly became so insensitive, his gaze left Voldemort's stunned face, gliding down over dozens of little buttons on his black shirt towards his waist and - _um_ - his groin and still down...

Hang on. There was a hand, which suspiciously looked like his own.

Impossible.

It couldn't be.

But, hypothetically, _if_ it really was his hand, what the hell was that stupid limb doing? Why was it squeezing the inner side of Riddle's thigh a mere inch from his crotch? This had to be some kind of hallucination – a result of the 'serious brain damage' Ron had warned him about before. Harry was absolutely sure that he would know if he grasped Tom right _there_, wouldn't he?

But the cloth under his fingers felt too soft to be his jeans, and that pulsing warmth had a different rhythm than his own hammering heartbeat...

His heart and stomach jumped so high that Harry could swear he felt them both in his throat. He still stared, completely perplexed, how his digits innocently rubbed that very intimate place of _his_ body, while Voldemort's muscles and sinews tightened under his clutch, clenching and turning rigid.

So maybe it wasn't hallucination. Everything felt too real, even the chill of his sweat-soaked hair at the back of his neck. This had to be his breaking point. He passed it already and his body acted accordingly.

But, if it really wasn't an illusion, Harry could only marvel about his continuing existence. Wasn't he supposed to die several seconds ago? Maybe he was dead already and had gone straight to hell – or heaven? Or maybe, by some impossible miracle, he was still alive. If that was the case, shouldn't he immediately remove his hand from that _place_? Preferably before the 'thigh owner' could take some direct action which would result in a loss of that stubborn limb.

Too late. Harry's nervous system was overloaded and therefore not working fast enough. The long, spidery fingers already curled around his wrist, forcefully pulling his disobedient hand from that gorgeous heat.

Only then did Harry realized that the Dark Lord was aroused. The evidence was unmistakable, presented right before his eyes. His body jolted to awareness after seeing that and Harry had to fight back the urge to adjust his own throbbing erection. He was immensely glad that his lap was still covered by the heavy blanket.

He stared ahead at the bulge that lay level with his eyes until Voldemort hoisted himself up from the couch and took a step backward.

He didn't say anything.

If the youngster had been waiting for the most awkward moment of his life, he no longer had to because he was experiencing it. And the more he wished for it to pass already, the longer the silence wore on.

"I was under the conviction that you're into women," Voldemort finally spoke, his voice sounded obnoxiously controlled to Harry's ears.

Harry looked at his hand; the one which proved the complete lack of his self-mastery.

"So was I, until … recently," he whispered, his face still heated up.

Voldemort took another step back, fastening his robes.

His eyes had that malicious gleam again.

"Don't play with me, Potter."

Harry looked up at him, confused.

"Excuse me?"

Riddle's lips curled, forming an unpleasant sneer.

"You think that I am not aware of what you did to me back at Hogwarts. You forget that Lord Voldemort always knows. Always."

Harry pushed the warm blanket aside and rose to his feet.

"What are you talking about?" he asked vigilantly, but the Dark Lord didn't intend to answer him. He turned around, moving noiselessly towards the exit. Harry couldn't let him to leave like that. He outran him, slamming the already opened door shut in his face.

Maybe he overdid it a little, but that certainly didn't justify that pointed apex of a sharp knife jabbed under his chin. Too late Harry realized that he never disarmed Riddle after that attack on Neville.

The Dark Lord pushed him to the wall, the knife sliding along Harry's jaw line to his artery, leaving an angry scratch in its wake.

"I am tired of your games, Potter," Voldemort whispered virulently. "Now, you will give me the answers I want."

Not that Harry could protest, really.

"How did you find it out?" the Dark Lord hissed, the tone of his voice turning acid and cold. "What was it? The Imperius Curse? Veritaserum? Or did you mess with my memories?"

Harry gaped at him, confusion and apprehension apparent on his face.

Briefly, he regretted leaving yew wand back on the table.

"You know … I don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about," he breathed out, when the tip of the knife prodded his skin again.

"How can I answer you then?" he added quickly as he noticed how the anger twisted the Dark Lord's features.

"Enough, Potter! How can you pretend your ignorance when we both know that I'm talking about that lust I feel for you. Tell me how you discovered it!"

The room around Harry began to spin as he forgot to breathe. He only stared into those flaring eyes, his own pupils dilating in disbelief.

"You … lust after … me?" he somehow managed to utter those words through his narrowed throat. His arousal, which nearly dissipated in the previous minutes was back that instant, screaming for attention.

"Why the fake surprise, brat! You surely knew about it already," Voldemort hissed, frustration leaking into his voice. "That's the reason behind your staring, stammering, sweating and nervousness, isn't it? That was why you just _assaulted_ me in that way – because you knew! You knew what my weakness is!"

It occurred to Harry that the Dark Lord's mind reading abilities were still strongly influenced by the loss of his magic. His guesses were completely incorrect.

"I … assure you that I didn't know how you feel about me," Harry whispered throatily.

"Silence!" Voldemort snarled, pressing the blade harder into Harry's neck, almost making him bleed. "I don't believe a word of it, Potter! If you didn't know as you say, why would you do _that_? Why would you touch me like that?"

For a moment Harry could only goggle at him.

"Why? Honestly, you're asking me why? Do I have to explain it? Goddammit, you got yourself a new body, why aren't you using it properly? You would know _why_ then!"

The knife slid down from his neck as Voldemort straightened his back, watching him with a mixture of surprise and irritation.

"And you've got a dick with a mind of its own. It's seriously underused, isn't it? Is that why you couldn't resist _groping _me?"

Harry blinked numbly. Did Voldemort really just say what he thought he did?

If yes, there was no reason why Harry couldn't push his limits too.

"Maybe I did it because I find you sexy."

The effect of what he said was instantaneous. Voldemort's chin dropped a little and he looked like he might choke. It took him much longer than usual to replace that expression with his usual irked sneer.

"People do not view me as a _sexy_ person," he hissed after regaining his self-control.

Harry lips curled upward after hearing that.

"Oh, why do you think that? One would have thought that you would be more pretentious, being a dark lord and all that."

Riddle was openly irate now, gritting his teeth, squeezing the handle of the knife repeatedly.

"Of course I am perfect in every possible sense, brat! It's just… The others are too blind to see it."

"So, what if I'm not that blind?" Harry whispered, his heart beating a little faster.

The Dark Lord watched him incredulously, his lips tightening and relaxing a couple of times before he snorted.

"And what do you expect me to do about it, Potter? Mate with you? Just because you're a heartthrob, number one in the wizarding world?"

"Am I?" Harry breathed out, secretly pleased. Tom wouldn't say that if he didn't think so.

"It doesn't matter if you are or not! This whole conversation is simply ridiculous! I absolutely refuse to act upon my concupiscence!"

That darkened Harry's mood substantially. His lust-induced hopes and plans began to crumble apart.

"Why?" he forced himself to ask.

"Why you ask... Isn't it obvious, Potter? Or have you already forgotten about the Prophecy?-!" Voldemort snarled, clenching his fist. "It's you who's predestined to destroy me! I cannot simply ignore that _fact_!"

"The Prophecy ruined my life!" Harry cried out, grasping a handful of his robes. "What good did it do for you?"

The Dark Lord seemed to be taken aback by Harry's sudden scathing anger. He didn't answer immediately.

"It destroyed you too, didn't it? Then why _the fuck_ are you still pursuing it?-!" Harry spluttered in his face.

Voldemort quickly composed himself.

"Because it says what's going to happen..."

"No, no and no! It's you and only you who will decide what's going to happen!" Harry raved. "If you want to follow it then yes, it will come true! But no one said that you_ have to_ pursue it! You can still change your … our future!"

Harry let go of him, stumbling backwards.

"But you obviously want us to be crushed by it, so whatever, it's your choice. Just don't forget that it was you who picked me for this, who made me the Chosen One. Unlike you, I didn't really have a choice."

Harry pressed himself against the wall behind him, watching the man he desired so much, seeing his inner battle. It took quite a long time before Voldemort finally looked up at him, reaching his decision.

"I am aware that many things have changed," he said then. "I would be dead already if it weren't of you, boy. I assume that you're trying to stand against that fate?"

The way he said it turned the statement into a question. Harry was, however, paying more attention to a new quality of his voice, which was rich and velvety.

"Quite a difficult adversary, isn't it?" he finally whispered, making the older man smirk a little.

"You've never settled for any less."

Harry smiled back.

"Yeah, screw the fates."

Harry ran out of words. They stood unmoving, their eyes glued to each other for another long moment. Finally, the youngster gathered his courage and reached out, taking that large, cold, pale hand into his.

"Well then … if you agree with this, then you can stop threatening me with that knife and … you can call me Harry more often because..."

The soft, cool lips suddenly found his and all Harry's thoughts scattered.

It was here.

It was really happening, their first _real_ kiss.

Harry closed his eyes and brought him closer, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck.

It was a bit awkward and clumsy at first as their teeth collided several times. Harry could tell that Voldemort wasn't as experienced in kissing as he tried to pretend. Harry didn't know how to tell him that it wasn't a problem at all. In the end, he didn't have to say anything. It was quite unnecessary because Tom was a very fast learner and his cool lips already felt wonderful against his own, demanding and dominating.

They broke apart, breathing hard and fast. Harry couldn't help but smirk a little as he saw Riddle's dazed yet eager expression. It stirred something deep within him, something what made him feel amazingly alive. He wanted more.

"Come here," he rasped out and pulled him down into a new, hungry kiss.

The heat charged between their bodies and any awkwardness Harry felt before was already long forgotten. It was almost too perfect now, every breath, every touch, every sinuous movement. Harry didn't hold back in the slightest. He assaulted Voldemort's tongue with his own, licking it, sucking at it, delving into his mouth as much as he could, pushing his pelvis against the taller man's groin shamelessly. The taste, the smell and the feel of his body against his own mesmerized Harry.

The Dark Lord reciprocated with passion, getting better with every second, slowly gaining the upper hand. He grasped Harry's shirt and dragged him back to the couch. Harry heard something tumble and shatter as they staggered over the room but he couldn't bring himself to care what it was. They made it to the couch and fell on the hard, lacerated upholstery, then rolled down on the floor with a loud thud as Harry tried to flip them over.

Harry's surroundings dissolved in a mist as all his senses were completely preoccupied by the man in his arms. Was it even possible for anyone to ignite so much ecstasy within his body? The feeling of mounting pleasure already began to overpower him. Their kisses turned into fierce bites, their breaths were shallow and wheezy as their inept fingers fought the clasps and buttons of their clothes. Voldemort suddenly hissed in frustration, pushed Harry on his back and tore his shirt apart, bringing his head down so he could kiss and bite every inch of revealed skin. As Harry's mouth was free for that moment, he let out a keen cry, writhing beneath him, tossing his head from side to side. Their lips mashed together again and Harry felt that he was nearly there as the cold hand slowly wandered below his navel.

And then Voldemort stopped.

He stopped touching him, kissing him and moving altogether. His body froze above Harry's, bringing the youngster to the edge of lustful madness.

"Why did you...?-!"

Riddle seized his wrists and brought their mouths together, effectively silencing him and immobilizing him.

After a few seconds of stillness the Dark Lord raised himself, separating their bodies and disentangling their legs.

For a moment, Harry seriously considered becoming a murderer after all.

As Voldemort tried to end their kiss, Harry resolutely refused to let go, sucking on his lower lip until the Dark Lord bit him hard enough to bleed.

Only then Harry released him, but not without a glare.

"Potter," Voldemort gasped, completely breathless. "Snap out of it! Weasley is coming!"

The reality struck Harry like a shock wave. His senses returned to him and his eyes grew comically wide as he suddenly heard the running steps and Ron's voice calling his name.

He only had time to realize that they were still on the floor, their clothes were shattered and that rusty taste on his tongue assured him that he was still bleeding.

That was all he could perceive before the door burst open and Ron was inside, his eyes scanning the room frantically. Harry knew that once his friend saw him, he immediately made a wrong conclusion. With his ruffled looks, bloodied lips and shock in his face, there was no reason to be surprised about it. Harry, shaken to the core, realized that Voldemort, who was quickly retreating from the _locus delicti_, was in a grave danger.

"Harry … you are hurt!" Ron gasped in fear. Then a fury flashed in his eyes as he located the Dark Lord.

"YOU MONSTER!" he roared, raising his wand.

"RON! NO!" Harry screamed, but his friend didn't listen.

There was only one thing Harry could do.

In one fluent movement he rose to his feet and jumped.

There was a sharp flash of light and then nothing.

Darkness enveloped Harry's senses.

_**R&R**_

**Author's note: **So now it's up to you. Please, tell me what you think.


	7. Separations

**Author's note: **Thank you so much for your kind reviews. I'm glad you appreciated the previous chapter which I consider quite crucial for this story. Things get a little more complicated in this one, so you can expect some surprising turns of events.

Many thanks to my great beta: TheSecretUchiha

Rating of this chapter: M (just to be sure)

xxxxx

**Separations**

xxxxx

_The Shrieking Shack_

_27__th__ December 2000, 23:05_

Harry woke up with a start, seeing his best friend leaning over him, his face paler than a paper.

"Harry!" Ron shouted in relief. "Are you all right?-!"

"I think so," Harry groaned, massaging his buzzing ear.

Ron sat back on his heels, looking sheepish.

"Thank Merlin you're awake! I'm so sorry, Harry! I don't know how could this happen … why did you do that? Why?-!"

"Ron, calm down please ... and tell me what happened first," Harry muttered and heavily sat up. He felt as if someone hit him over the head with a baseball bat and then kicked him in the stomach for good measure. His memories were coming back, but chaotic and confusing.

"I didn't mean to-!" Ron pleaded again. "I swear!"

"Ron! I need to know-"

Harry froze. His eyes widened comically and a moment later he scrambled on all four and rose to his knees, searching the room quickly.

"Where is he? What happened to him, Ron?" he asked, dreading the answers.

"He's … gone," Ron mumbled in a sickened voice.

"Gone?-! What do you mean he's gone?-! You haven't killed him, have you?-!"

The fear Harry felt was nauseating. He didn't know what he would do if his friend said yes.

"No, of course I haven't," Ron shook his head. "What do you think of me? Though, I have to admit that when I came here I seriously considered using the other Unforgivable Curse and ... and..."

His voice faltered.

"I can't believe what you did, Harry!" he cried out brokenly. "Why did you shield him?-! I could have… I could have … oh, Merlin! I could have done something terrible!"

Harry closed his eyes, giving himself a second to enjoy the relief which flooded his body.

"I told you to stay out of it, Ron," he said then. "Next time, _please_, try to listen to me!"

That wasn't the answer Ron was waiting for and Harry knew that.

"And I did it to protect you, Ron."

That was partially the truth.

"If you had missed him, he would have tried to kill you for that stupid, unreasonable attack. And if your curse had hit him by chance, he would have done it once he awakened."

"He almost did it anyway," Ron grumbled.

"What?" Harry gasped.

His friend shrugged his shoulders.

"After I stunned you, I was … you know … I was shocked. I couldn't move. I couldn't even think. I was just so shocked. And he … er...," Ron coughed and looked down at his palms, chafing them against his trousers.

"And he...?" Harry prompted him.

"Look, I know I should have stopped him, but I couldn't! I swear, Harry!"

"Stopped him from doing what?" Harry asked, guardedly.

"Well, he came to you and ... eh … he knelt beside you and then…," Ron halted again, furrowing and fumbling with the buttons on his sleeves.

"Come on, Ron. Tell me," Harry pressed.

"Okay, but don't be mad at me," Ron muttered. "He _touched_ you. I really don't know why. Blimey, it almost looked like he was checking your life signs but … I can't imagine why You-Know-Who would do something like that. Anyway, I'm sorry for that too. I totally messed up."

"I'm not mad at you," Harry said and smirked once he saw Ron's dumbstruck expression.

"You aren't? Seriously?" he asked hopefully.

"No I'm not. But more importantly, what happened to you?"

Ron spirits dwindled a bit. He hesitated again, but only for a moment.

"Well, then … it was a real torture. I think that only Lestrange using the Cruciatus Curse on Hermione … and then what happened to Ginny … and Fred … and when Hagrid carried your limp body from the Forest ... only that was even worse. But still, if you saw the way he looked at me... I thought I was going to die. That stare … honestly, I can't even describe how gruesome it was."

Ron shuddered and wiped several drops of cold sweat from his eyebrows.

"And then he was gone. He left just a moment before I could give up my spirit."

"The most important thing is that you're all right," Harry breathed out loudly.

"I don't know. I'm not sure if I ever be able to sleep again without having horrible nightmares."

"You shouldn't think about it, Ron."

"It's easy for you to say when you're used to this. But I'm not! Every time I close my eyes I see those insane, creepy eyes. Next time, if I could choose, I'd rather look at a Basilisk."

Harry fought back a chuckle.

"No, you wouldn't. Trust me," he smirked, but understood Ron's reaction. Voldemort's glare had this effect on people; he used to perceive it the same way after all.

He rose to his feet, ready to brush off the dust from his clothes when he noticed several wet patches on his shirt and jeans.

"Why am I wet?" he asked, turning to Ron and then looking at the sodden floor.

"I had to put out the fire," Ron shrugged his shoulders and got up too.

Harry's lips parted in surprise.

"What fire?"

Ron looked at him, surprised as well.

"Don't tell me that you didn't notice breaking up the jar!"

"You mean Hermione's jar? No ... I didn't."

Harry was entirely honest about this. He was too engaged in a different activity at that time.

"That's odd," Ron said, scratching his ear while Harry quickly looked away so his friend wouldn't see his embarrassment. Fortunately, he didn't.

"Anyway, when I came here, the floor beside the couch was already in flames. Once You-Know-Who left the room I cast _Aguamenti _to put out the fire and _Reparo_ to mend the jar. Then I scooped the flames and vanished the water."

Ron averted his eyes to the floor.

"And then I tried to wake you up...," he coughed to clear his throat. "I bet you still feel pretty miserable."

"I'm fine," Harry grinned forcefully. His head still hurt and his stomach felt like being stuffed with stones but Ron didn't have to know about it.

"Please, don't tell her, okay?" Ron suddenly whispered, his voice cramped and sheepish. "Don't tell Hermione that I stunned you. If she knew what almost happened here, she would hex me till the next century."

Harry came over to him, laying his palm on his shoulder, squeezing it.

"Don't worry, Ron. I won't say a word."

"Thanks, mate," the ginger young man breathed out, relieved. Then he straightened his back and chuckled. "Look at this. It's funny!"

"What?" Harry said and looked down at his partially exposed chest where Ron pointed his finger.

"It looks like a bite mark!" Ron grinned, prodding the rounded bruise. "And here's another one."

Harry's face instantly turned purple. He grasped the edges of his torn shirt and covered himself.

"Right. Very funny indeed," he strained through his gritted teeth, though deep inside he was mortified to death.

"I was just joking, Harry," Ron grinned and rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean to insinuate that You-Know-Who did that with his mouth. Ugh, that was a total gross, wish I hadn't even thought it. Maybe you're right, I should keep my mouth shut. Sorry, mate."

Well, at least Harry knew what Ron would think if he discovered the truth. His display of repulsion wasn't surprising; he expected something far worse in fact.

"Where's my wand?" Harry asked to change the topic. He really needed to mend his shirt as quickly as possible.

"You mean where's _his_ wand, right? Because I would never call this wand mine," Ron said as he pulled the object out of his pocket.

"I hid it in case that he would come back for it," he added, holding the yew wand as if it was dirtied by something particularly repugnant. "I still don't understand how can you use it."

Harry took it from him and ran his fingers over its smooth surface.

"Why not? It's quite perfect. The second best after my holly wand. Maybe this is due to the same core both wands share … shared." Harry's voice significantly dropped with a sudden dejection, but Ron didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, but imagine how many horrible crimes it committed! Remember what it did to you!"

"That's not a fault of this wand, Ron. Besides, Dumbledore was using the Elder Wand, _the Deathstick_. How many awful crimes the previous masters used it for that that wand was given such a name? Surely incomparably more murders than Voldemort could do with the yew wand during his whole life. And yet, as you remember, Dumbledore had no problem with that wand. So why should I be repulsed by this one?"

"Huh, maybe you're right," Ron shrugged. "It's just that I thought that it might not be the best idea to use it in front of him all the time. It must be getting his goat."

No matter how much Harry would like to disagree, he couldn't.

"I guess it's one of his pet hates at the moment," he shrugged.

"How can you say just like that?" Ron asked, bewildered.

"Voldemort always hates something. It is his way of dealing with unpleasant things. I grew accustomed to it."

_But I'm not accustomed to his display of affection_, Harry thought right away and blushed a little. _That caught me off balance. Literally._

A need – an instant, intense and irrepressible need to see him again took control of his thinking. That burning urge compelled his feet to move, leave the room and seek him out. It cost him a lot of energy to halt that process and merely drag his feet in a nervous manner. He heard Ron talking about something but he couldn't bring himself to pay attention. Not now, when he planned their next meeting, ideally without Ron's intervention.

"...what do you think? … Harry! Are you listening to me?"

Harry shook his head and turned to his friend.

"Sorry, I just … what did you say?"

Ron sighed and nodded to show his understanding.

"It's nothing. I see you need some rest. It's my turn to take the guard anyway."

"Okay," Harry quickly agreed. "I'll stay here."

"I'll go downstairs," Ron nodded again. "And don't worry, I'll be watching. I won't let him approach you again."

Harry's silly grin fell from his lips. That might complicate things _a lot_.

xxxxx

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_28__th__ December 2000, 22:35_

"Department of Mysteries," said the cool female voice, as the lift stopped with a quiet chink.

Dragomir Lucian Negura stepped outside, taking in the pleasant, cool and slightly bitter air coming from the dungeons. His halt wasn't longer than just a split second, something a human would barely notice. Then he turned left towards an opening leading to a stone staircase which he descended quietly. Sensing more than hearing another one of his kind, he quietly spoke.

"Nestor."

"My Leader," the smaller, attractive man stepped out of shadow, polite and pleasant as always. "The rest are waiting inside. Follow me, please." The gray eyes met the navy blue for the shortest moment an then Nestor bowed his head a little. Dragomir nodded curtly.

"Good," he said and approached a grimy looking door, which Nestor opened for him and let him in.

It was a little warmer inside, Dragomir instantly noted with certain displeasure. He didn't like anything warm beside the hot flow of blood running down his throat as he drank.

Other than that the courtroom was adequately large, dark walls and empty benches dimly lit with torches. A mere human wouldn't see much, but he had no problem to recognize every detail.

His precious children were here already. These former mighty dark lords were waiting for him, their conqueror, ready to serve him devotedly. Only four of them were present as the remaining two were on a mission abroad. But this should be enough.

Nestor meanwhile took a seat on the closest bench, looking up at him in silent expectation.

Dragomir glanced over them and seated himself in a chair with chains which stood in the center of the room. The irony of taking the place for the accused and turning it into his throne was too entertaining to let it pass. He ignored the quiet rattle of chains on the floor and stretched his long legs as he made himself more comfortable.

"I know that this is unusual of me to summon you this soon after the previous meeting," he began solemnly. "But I have to admit that I need your helping hand. My situation requires a quick resolution. Voldemort is mine in time, there's no doubt of it, yet there is one thing which still bothers me deeply and that is how much his subjugation will cost me. I already paid much higher price than I was willing to sacrifice."

"You must not underestimate him, Dragomir," said a deep, quiet voice with a strong French accent. "From what I had seen, Voldemort gained some considerable powers over past decades."

Negura immediately searched out the man who said those words. His long, pale, bearded face was framed with shoulder-length silver hair. His lucid blue eyes shined strangely.

"Even if harmed, the easiest thing for him to do is to avoid the capture. In the end, we could as well move to this country for a lifetime and this is something neither of us really wants."

Dragomir rose to his feet, speaking calmly.

"Unlike your wife, Gaston, I don't think that Voldemort will be trying to hide forever."

Quiet chuckles and sniggers filled the room, most of them coming from Nestor who was apparently having great fun. The other man, Gaston, slowly turned to him, his long, pointed teeth bared with detestation.

"It shocks me that you consider this a laughing matter. She's been on the run for more than fifty years which is considerably longer than Lord Voldemort. Imagine the damage she could have done to our cause. If you did, Desalmado, maybe you wouldn't find this amusing anymore."

"My mistake," Nestor sneered. "That I can't get over the simple fact that you were married to a muggleborn. What kind of a dark lord would do something like that?"

"Maybe the one who doesn't like purebloods very much. It fascinates me that you Nestor, you who served Alcander in person speak like this. One would have thought that you would be the most more supportive, but all your devoted service was just a pretense, right? We all know already that you secretly dreamed about killing him, you wanted to stab him in the back like some dirty little traitor..."

"I am not a traitor!" Nestor snarled furiously. "I admit that my service for Alcander was only to enhance my abilities, but I planned to kill him in a proper duel!"

"Gentlemen, I believe you can postpone this discussion for later."

Dragomir moved to stand in front of them, speaking politely, but his deep blue eyes were very cold.

"I summoned you here to make a decision, not to listen to your arguments. I feel that it's the right time for me to launch an offensive. Voldemort was forced to use the Forbidden Potion and as a result he lost his supreme powers for a couple of days, which I see as the opening. I must act while he's still weakened, for the stronger he gets the more harm he can cause me."

His eyes found Brutus, who nodded in agreement.

"I want this to be done as soon as possible. And I absolutely refuse to finish this hunt at the cost of disclosing my identity. So my task for you is quite simple. Use whatever method you need to find them and inform me immediately. I will deal with the rest."

They all rose as if they were commanded to do so.

"Is it true that Voldemort didn't hesitate to seduce his mortal enemy to ensure his own protection?" Nestor asked curiously as he came closer to him.

"Yes, Potter is with him," Dragomir said bitingly. "The evidence that he's on his side is indisputable."

"I'd like to have that boy if you don't plan on leaving him as a first meal for Voldemort," Brutus said in a raspy voice and bowed to him a little.

"I had not decided yet, but I suppose that if you find them first, the boy is yours. I have only one condition. Kill him. He must not become one of us."

"With pleasure," Brutus smirked cruelly and briskly left the room.

Gaston didn't say anything as he passed him quickly, heading directly to the door, but Negura wasn't watching him, he paid all attention to his last child who hadn't spoken yet.

The vampire was always this silent and detached, his hood always covered nearly whole his face.

"I'm counting on you, Cuthbert," Dragomir said quietly.

"Don't hesitate to use the Aurors and don't forget that Voldemort has a back-up plan. If no mistake is made, you shall have them in ten hours," the dark clad man replied in a cold, quiet, barely audible voice and disappeared in darkness.

xxxxx

_The Shrieking Shack_

_28__th__ December 2000, 04:05_

One hour and forty minutes.

Most of people think of it as of a relatively short time span. Harry considered it endless. Ever since he took turns with Ron, he's been waiting for him to come, but to no avail.

Voldemort didn't show himself again and Harry couldn't do anything else but think of hundreds of crushing theories explaining why he was ignoring him again. He came to many conclusions, but the most rational one was that the Dark Lord changed his mind about their little affair and didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore. Period.

Harry chewed at his lower lip until he broke the scab on it, tasting the blood. For the tenth or eleventh times he considered getting up, bursting into his room and asking him what the fuck was his problem. Only the thought of looking like an idiot while doing that kept him in place. Besides, it would only make things worse.

Harry sighed and picked up the arid textbook he read before, browsing it once again.

At some point he actually started to read it in a desperate need for some distraction.

Therefore, one could pardon his reaction, when a high, cold voice suddenly spoke to him.

"Fundamentals of advanced defensive magic, Volume I? Much better choice than Volume II, indeed. This is really interesting. I didn't expect you to read such a high-quality literature, Potter … Harry."

Harry dropped the book, jumped from the couch and yelped, quickly covering his mouth to hold back more sounds of surprise.

Beside being utterly shocked to see him again, how was it possible that he didn't hear him coming in?-! That was an inexcusable inattention for someone who stood the guard.

"Most magicians do not waste their time with theories. They are under impression that practice is much more important. What a big mistake, don't you think?"

Voldemort stood just a couple of feet from him, watching him and the book on the couch with an undeniable interest.

Harry wasn't ready for this. He'd stopped waiting, he'd stopped _hoping_.

"What … what are you doing here?" he finally stuttered out.

"Shall I take it that you do not want me to be here?" the Dark Lord countered, tilting his head aside in curiosity.

"No! I mean yes! I mean I'm hap ... glad that you came. I just don't understand..."

Harry paused and took a deep breath. He needed to re-coordinate his thinking.

"...what took you so long," he finished, looking down at his feet.

The Dark Lord came over to the table and seized the repaired jar with flames, encircling his long fingers around it.

"Weasley was watching," he said simply as he turned to Harry again. "He finally fell asleep."

Harry slowly relaxed his tense posture. That explained many things. Tom didn't come to see him sooner him because he couldn't, not because he didn't want to. It was amazing how that small revelation could erase practically all of his current troubles … except for one.

"So...," Harry fidgeted, dragging his feet.

Voldemort regarded him attentively, his face unreadable.

"So," Harry said again and inhaled deeply, gathering his courage, "do you … er … do you regret it?"

He shot another glance at him and quickly looked away. He didn't want Voldemort to see his face in case he said yes. Harry held his breath, feeling how his muscles tensed up again.

A soft lisp of robes told him that Voldemort approached him. Harry's stomach clenched in trepidation.

Waiting was the worst part; Harry felt that he shrank an inch every second the Dark Lord contemplated the answer.

Finally, just as he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, Riddle spoke.

"No, I don't." His voice was clear, calm and composed. "What happened, happened."

Harry immediately felt a tremendous weight fell off his shoulders. He straightened himself up and looked directly at him.

"That's good, because I don't regret it either."

A brief surprise flashed in those scarlet eyes. From what Harry saw, Voldemort probably expected that he would stammer an ample apology about why it shouldn't have happened and why he no longer wanted him.

"Potter, this is...," the Dark Lord began but Harry stopped him resolutely.

"Harry! Just Harry, okay?" he said and took the jar from his hands. Voldemort let go, probably out of pure reflex and Harry put the glass back on the table. Then he returned to him, took one of those long-fingered, warmed hands into his, bringing it to his mouth.

Their eyes met again and Harry spoke against that soft, pale skin in a whisper.

"And yes, I know that this is the most irresponsible...," he kissed the most pronounced knuckle of the pearly-white little finger, "...insane...," he moved to the ring finger, biting it carefully, "...irresistible...," his lips grazed the middle one briefly, "...indecent...," the tip of his tongue dabbed at base of the forefinger, "...and incredible...," his nose gently touched and ran along the whole length of Voldemort's thumb, "...foolishness I've ever done." His mouth descended to his wrist, sucking at it vigorously until he left there a small mark.

"But I'm just a man and I'm tired of denying myself what I want."

Harry straightened himself again, his eyes never leaving the Dark Lord's astounded face.

Seeing how he struggled to keep remnants of his usually perfect composure, Harry released his hold and sent him one of his reassuring smiles.

The quickly cooling fingers returned Harry's lips, caressed them, feeling their texture, then changed direction and slid along his jaw down, following the shape of his neck.

"The-Boy-Who-Lived is a man now," Voldemort whispered very quietly as if he just talked to himself. "A very handsome young man, so to speak. It's nearly impossible to resist him."

"Then don't resist it," Harry said, his arms sneaking around his neck, pulling him closer into his embrace.

A quick, shallow breath fanned Harry's forehead, moving down over his nose to his lips. Their faces were drawing nearer and nearer until their mouth hesitantly met.

The touch of his lips was light and careful and all Harry could think of was how amazingly soft and cool it felt. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax which made the perception much better. He loved this part of hesitant exploration, something they missed the last time. Giving into a sudden impulse, Harry began to gently trace the lips he felt against his own with the tip of his tongue. It was a trick which Ginny taught him long ago, but he never tried it out on anyone else.

A little sigh and shiver assured him that whatever he was doing was appreciated. Harry let his palms wander down from his shoulders, feeling the shape of his partner's body through the many layers of fabric. In the response, Voldemort's breath became laboured and heavy and almost hot against Harry's lips. He quickly muttered something what Harry didn't quite catch.

But the message was more than obvious. He loved this too.

Harry felt a nearly painful jolt of arousal shake his body. He pulled him down a little more and pressed his tongue at the place where the white lips parted, nudging them apart slowly until he was granted the access. The pleasantly warm, soft and wet sensation welcomed him again and Harry could easily lose himself in that feeling. When the tip of his tongue met its counterpart and they both joined in a playful contest of rubbing, caressing and circling each other, Harry could swear he was losing the ground beneath his feet. He felt so high that he could only compare it to the first time he mounted a broom and reached the skies. Hungry for more, he sucked in the pleasant smell and the taste, remembering everything from the delicious friction between their bodies to the little tremors of the cold fingertips which still stroked his chin and jaw.

Honestly, if he had known that kissing the Dark Lord would feel like this he would have snogged him to death years ago. Nothing could stop him now except...

Cold fingers encircled his nape, holding him back until their lips separated.

"Harry...," Voldemort breathed hotly against his lips, licking them. "You'd better do something about that poor self-control of yours, unless you want Weasley paying us another _friendly_ visit."

Only then Harry realized that his moans were perilously loud and that he was behaving somewhat obscene, especially when he considered where exactly his hands had descended to. He took a reluctant step back so he could start using his brain again.

"Ron doesn't have the slightest idea of what's going on," he whispered then. "That … accident which happened before... He was just trying to protect me."

Voldemort quickly smoothed his crumpled robes and nestled himself down on an dusty couch.

"You didn't know what curse he was going to use," he stated then.

"I didn't," Harry reluctantly agreed.

"Which only shows how impossibly reckless you are," the Dark Lord hissed with disdain. "Your behaviour make no sense to me. You are not bound to serve me, Potter."

"Harry," the youngster corrected him. "And you're wrong," he added as he slowly sat down beside him. "I don't serve you, I am not a Death Eater. I shielded you for a different reason."

"Explain then," Voldemort snapped, his red eyes watching him guardedly.

Harry smiled somewhat sadly and gingerly touched the soft, pale cheek.

"You should know better that I would do anything to protect people I care about."

The muscles tightened beneath the thin skin as Voldemort clenched his teeth.

"_What?"_

His voice was like acid and Harry drew back his hand.

"I didn't contemplate my decision. I acted more on the instinct, I think. But I knew I couldn't watch you die or be tortured or whatever Ron's intention could have been. It was easier form me to put my own life at stake."

For the briefest moment the Dark Lord's face looked truly horrible. It unsettled Harry greatly and he found himself moving away further and groping for the yew wand, in case that Voldemort snapped completely, because the man beside him was seething, gritting his teeth and baring them in nothing short of rage. His long claws were leaving red, angry trails wherever they touched his fine skin. His breath was fast again, wheezing. And when he spoke again, his voice came out in one long furious hiss.

"Do not _ever_ say something like that again! _Ever!_ Is that clear, Potter?-!"

Harry didn't even think about protesting. Voldemort was enraged far beyond what he was normally able to stir up and he wished he knew why. Usually, people were quite happy to know that someone cared about them a great deal. Why did Voldemort always have to be so different?

The nerve-wrecking silence lasted some time as Harry lacked the will to break it. It was driving him mad that he didn't know what he did wrong. In the end the Dark Lord gave him the explanation by himself. His voice was more controlled, but equally cold and poisonous.

"I can see precisely what your plan was. But if all that you've done lately was only to make me feel _guilty_, then I assure you that you're not going to get rid of me that easily."

Harry froze where he was sitting as he finally processed the message behind those words.

So that was what made the Dark Lord throw a fit.

He obviously thought that Harry was attempting to make him feel remorse by that self-sacrificing action he took.

The youngster was completely horrified. After all the things they said about the Prophecy, after being so _intimate_, the Dark Lord still though that Harry wanted him dead and that he only picked a more noble way how to have it done.

Harry let out a pained groan and grasped his hair, tearing some of it out.

He wondered how could he possibly make him understand, but he felt totally lost, because his partner was such a lost case.

Deciding that he could at least try something, he slowly raised his head asked in a quiet, even voice.

"Do you think I'm a selfish person?"

The murderous look the Dark Lord sent him implied that he wasn't interested in any discussion at the moment. But he spoke to him anyway in a venomous hiss.

"Is that a _joke_?"

Harry just shook his head.

"No, it's not. Tell me, please. Do you think I am?"

"You're the most selfless idiot I've ever had a misfortune to meet," Riddle snapped.

"Wrong again," Harry whispered.

He got up, straddled the Dark Lord and pushed his tall, but skinny body deeper into the upholstery.

Voldemort began to struggle quite fiercely but Harry grasped his shoulders, meeting his eyes squarely.

"Now listen. I don't want you to feel remorse if it threatens your life. I don't care that you _should_ feel it for the sake of all the people you killed because _I don't want you to die_! This is how I feel so please, UNDERSTAND IT! You are important to me!"

The Dark Lord was at a loss for words, staring at him with a bewildered expression. Harry slowly sat back on his legs and bent his head as if in embarrassment.

"You see ... I'm being utterly selfish because I prefer what I want over what is right. Is it a crime that I don't want this to end, that I don't want to lose you? I suppose that it is..."

Harry ran his fingers over the black, soft fabric and sighed deeply, leaning forward, resting his forehead against his chest.

"You … really believe every word you say," Voldemort finally whispered, still taken aback.

Harry raised his head, meeting the red eyes which were incomparably softer now.

"Absolutely," he breathed out.

"You're the most confusing..."

But Harry didn't let him finish as he kissed him instead and Voldemort kissed him back fiercely.

A sudden quiet thud coming from the downstairs put a sudden stop to it.

Harry quickly stood up, glanced at door and then back at the Dark Lord, who seemed to be listening too.

However, before Harry could ask whether Ron was coming upstairs, the other wizard relaxed again.

"I assume we were too loud," Harry whispered as he sat back on the couch.

"You were," Voldemort said simply.

Harry chuckled but nodded. For a minute or so they sat beside each other, but the silence was completely different than the one a moment ago. Harry felt at ease.

"I wonder if I can ask something," he suddenly said and reached out as he was overpowered by craving to touch his hand.

Voldemort briefly glanced down as he felt the contact of Harry's warm fingertips against his skin and then he turned his head to him.

Harry took it as a sign that he was listening.

"Back in Hogwarts, shortly before we set you free, I heard your voice in my head calling my name. I wonder, how did you do that?"

"Magic, Harry," Voldemort smirked and his eyes returned to their joined hands. That sight somehow fascinated him.

"How exactly does it work? Besides, I was under the impression that you couldn't use your magic at that time."

"That doesn't mean that I didn't learn how to use yours," Voldemort said solemnly. "And I won't be losing time by giving you some explanations when you don't even have a basic notion of suggestive and mind controlling magic."

"You're right, I don't. That's why it sounds to me as if you were trying to possess me again."

Seeing that irritated look the Dark Lord sent him, Harry couldn't resist a smile.

"Just kidding. But what about now? Do you feel any progression? Is at least some part of your magic back?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"A very small part of it," Voldemort admitted, watching how their fingers intertwined.

"That's … great. So … I assume you want your wand back?" Harry said, slightly nervous.

"I will take it back when the right time comes."

Harry couldn't really say he liked how it sounded, but he also couldn't feel less threatened than now when he was sitting next to him, holding his hand. The sense of security may be false, but he didn't care about it very much.

The next question came out spontaneously, he didn't even consider it before speaking aloud though he knew right away what brought it on. Seeing the Dark Lord from profile emphasized some of the features which so markedly differentiated him from other humans.

"What happened to your face?"

Harry regretted the words the moment he said them, but it was already too late to take them back. Damn his stupid curiosity.

Voldemort glanced at him distractedly and touched his slightly sunken temples before his hand moved down over his cheek to his chin. When he didn't find anything out of order, he asked.

"What do you mean by that?"

Harry bit into his sore lip, thinking about how to make such a rude question a little bit more polite.

"I didn't mean now, I meant before. You looked … er … somehow different when you were younger."

Voldemort visibly relaxed, he even smirked as he heard Harry's hesitant, almost apologetic explanation.

"Of course I did," he replied calmly. "I changed my appearance."

That was new. Harry had always thought that his current looks were an unwanted result of creating so many Horcruxes. It didn't occur to him that Voldemort could do it intentionally.

"Why would you do something like that?" he asked, baffled.

Another highly improper question which could provoke a new fit of anger, but quite unexpectedly the Dark Lord's smirk grew larger.

Harry couldn't help but wonder what he found so amusing about the question.

Riddle extracted his hand from Harry's clutch and made himself more comfortable.

"One would have thought," he began, "that you would be better informed. What exactly do you know about Horcruxes, Harry?"

_So it has something to do with them,_ Harry thought. _Dumbledore was right about it._

"Just the basic things," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"But you are surely aware of the main purpose for which they are created, aren't you?" Voldemort sneered.

Harry stared at him in something close to disbelief, wondering whether the Dark Lord was making fun of him. If Voldemort didn't tell him so many times that he never joked, Harry would swear that he did right now.

"To make you immortal, of course," he finally said, his voice suspicious. He wished to know what was going on.

"Good point," Voldemort nodded, watching him with amusement.

"Now, tell me, when do you think that I created my first Horcrux?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. He may not know what this was about, but he decided to play along.

"I guess when you were still at the school. You would be … seventeen?"

"No. I was just sixteen year old. I would have waited a few years longer if I could afford it, which I unfortunately couldn't. Imagine how it would ruin my plans to become the most powerful wizard of all time, if I accidentally died in the orphanage during one of Nazi air raids."

"Quite a lot I suppose, but I still fail to see the connection. What it has to do with your _appearance_?" Harry mused.

Voldemort sat back and elegantly propped his head against the back of his hand.

"Now Harry, it shouldn't be such a difficult task for your supreme deduction abilities," he sneered.

Harry's bewilderment multiplied. Was this some kind of a test or something? Could he confront Voldemort with Dumbledore's theory? But how Tom's young age when he created his first Horcrux fitted into the whole scheme?

"Well," he tried to sum his findings, "besides committing such horrible crimes when you were still underage… is there some way how could Horcrux possibly alter your visage?"

Voldemort leaned closer to him as if he wanted to kiss him.

"It depends... Do you think that an immortal can grow any older?"

That was certainly a new perspective. Harry hasn't considered that yet. And now when he did, he couldn't believe the consequences.

"Don't tell me that you...," he whispered, his eyes wide with surprise. "You couldn't possibly have stopped _maturing_ ever since then!"

"Oh yes, you see my point exactly. The secret dream of many mediocre fools officially became my nightmare," Voldemort slowly nodded. "At first I used the Aging Potion so my unchanging physical constitution wouldn't be too suspicious, but it was just a temporary solution. And since I was the only _child_, who ever made a Horcrux, there wasn't any sufficient literature which could help me with my problem. I knew that in that young body, no matter how well masked or efficient, I could never reach my full powers. And so I began experimenting, using my vast knowledge and inventions to deal with that highly unpleasant inconvenience. It was many years before I gained this form and reached my goal."

Voldemort was proud of himself, Harry realized. He viewed his current looks as one of his great achievements. Maybe Hermione made a quite fitting remark when she said that Dumbledore wasn't necessarily right about everything. How many other things had he misjudged?

Harry stopped staring at him numbly and chuckled.

"And here I thought that you did it because you disliked the resemblance to your father. How silly of me," he said lightly.

"It's not silly. I admit I abhorred our physical resemblance. It was just another reason to change myself, though not that important of course. Also, when I think about it, I might have some troubles with my authority if I were to command wizards and witches who appeared to be five times older than I was, not to mention that everyone would sooner or later discover the reason why I still looked the same."

He extended his long arm and touch Harry's chin with one of his cold fingers.

"I'm sure you understand my amusement now. I can hardly imagine myself staying in that childish form. It's the same as if I asked you to stay the way you looked the night I gave you this scar."

The cold finger moved upward to his forehead, tracing the contour of Harry's most famous feature.

Harry flinched back slightly. The touch evoked some memories he wanted to forget. _The graveyard. The pain._

Sensing his discomfort Voldemort withdrew his hand and looked aside. Harry found it just as displeasing, if not more.

To break the sudden tension, Harry quickly spoke.

"But I didn't stay the same, even though I should the moment I became your Horcrux, shouldn't I?"

"No, you've never been my Horcrux, Harry. I spent a lot of time considering what you told me back in the cave and came to this conclusion," the Dark Lord said tonelessly, staring ahead.

"But I was," the young man whispered. "If I weren't, I wouldn't have survived what happened … in the Forest."

"I say it for one last time," Voldemort turned his head to him, his face stiff like a mask again. "You weren't my Horcrux, because I've never enchanted you to become one. My soul wasn't sealed to yours. If anything, it was a mere latent attachment. And your survival is a clear-cut evidence of it. You surely know that to destroy a Horcrux you must destroy its _container_ beyond any magical repair. Which means you would _have to _die for good for that piece of my soul to be destroyed with you. And that obviously didn't happen."

It also didn't happen very often that Voldemort won a battle of arguments over Harry. He did now, but it wasn't a kind of victory which would bring on joyful cheers. On the contrary, their conversation lost all of the previous pleasant tone. Harry regretted not changing the topic sooner and tried to do something about the sudden sour mood.

"So you spent fifty years as sixteen years old," he smiled. "And now, since it is almost three years from the Battle of Hogwarts, you're nineteen. That actually makes you a year younger than I am!"

The scathing glare could peel off Harry's skin.

"I am by no means younger than you, Potter!"

But Harry just grinned evilly.

"Not even physically? Because I am twenty. Which means that you're the teenager here."

"I'm not!" a cold hiss cut the air.

The long fingers squeezed Harry's windpipe and Voldemort leaned to him, his hissing turning into juicy swear words in Parseltongue.

But he wasn't really hurting him, Harry could tell the difference. That's why he decided to play a little more.

"Stop it! I haven't even … said … that you're … only six … which is … also … partly true … for it would make me … such a … pervert...," he choked out. His plan on angering the Dark Lord even more and diverting his thoughts from the previous discussion worked too well.

However, before Voldemort could lose the rest of his self-control, Harry moved forward and brought their lips together. The clutch on his neck slackened that instant and Voldemort pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

"You're such a brat," he snarled once their lips separated.

"I like you too," Harry smiled back into the glowering face, smoothing the little wrinkle on the pale forehead. "By the way, it's your birthday in few days. How do you plan on celebrating it?"

"I do not waste time on stupid celebrations," Riddle hissed sharply. "And I wish you would stop acting like a three-year-old already!"

"Fine," Harry grumbled and sat back, watching him sit closer to the table, taking the Dark Detectors into his hands and examining them. The wire-like object hummed quietly, but the Sneakoscope stayed silent in his palm. Though no words were exchanged, the look they shared afterward said nearly everything.

Voldemort put the devices back on the table then and sank back into the upholstery, deep in thoughts.

"Can I take it that you trust me now?" Harry asked quietly, but he received no reply. Instead, a pale hand came to rest on his knee, the long fingers rubbing small circles into the denim.

That simple act did weird things to Harry's body, affecting him more than he wanted to admit.

He tensed up entirely and Voldemort noticed his reaction. Harry could see that the slit pupils in those sanguine eyes narrowed with interest.

"I wonder," he said then in a soft, curious whisper, "how many lovers have you had?"

Harry didn't expected this question so soon. But the Dark Lord obviously wasn't the one to beat around the bush.

"Eh … a few," he muttered, looking away in trepidation. He couldn't imagine himself telling Voldemort that for the past two years he only had sex with muggle prostitutes. Not only the Dark Lord would feel an instant need to disinfect himself in something like a sulfuric acid, but he would probably never want to touch him again.

Unfortunately, Voldemort wasn't satisfied with that at all.

"Am I supposed to take that as an answer?"

His voice turned cold and emotionless, but Harry could perfectly hear the hidden anger.

The youngster sighed and shook his head.

"It depends how you define the word 'lover'. It can be someone you love or simply someone for sex."

"How amusing to hear the icon of the wizarding world speak like that. Maybe you're not as pure as everyone thinks you are."

"Apparently, I am not a saint. If you have read the previous issues of the Daily Prophet, you would be better informed about all the inexcusable lapses in my behaviour."

"I read it but I do not consider the Prophet as a reliable source of information," Voldemort said curtly. "Furthermore, you still haven't answered me."

He drew back the hand from Harry's leg, but he didn't stop watching him.

"Right... So, which option?" Harry asked quietly.

"Both."

"Fine," Harry breathed out tiredly. "Ten or twelve girls, but I loved only one of them if that's what you wanted to know. Is there some reason why does it matter so much?"

"No, there isn't." Voldemort answered coldly, which only increased Harry's suspicion that something bothered him.

"Well then, how about you? How many men made you happy?"

The Dark Lord's features froze momentarily but then he sneered. He picked up the textbook which lay forgotten on a couch beside him, running his hand over its rough surface and said.

"I see no reason to discuss my privacy to this extend. Tell me instead what have you learned from this book."

So Voldemort didn't want him to know and that was not fair. His reluctance to talk about this matter implied that the Dark Lord himself considered that number to be quite large or on the other hand very small. Harry inclined to the second option for Voldemort was still very reserved around him, but this could also be a mere consequence of their former hostility. Harry looked up, seeing that Voldemort was still waiting for the answer. He decided to postpone these contemplations for some better occasion and redirected his thoughts to the book, which was just another great mystery to him.

"Not much. Actually, I'm confused," he said in all honesty. "What's this whole book good for? I mean, are you really using this – how is it called … a hyper-circulation of magical energy, magical release points, or enhanced magical self-examination? Frankly, some of those terms would be more appropriate in a sex handbook rather than an old textbook of magic."

As expected, Voldemort bristled at Harry's would-be witty comments. His sneer was biting.

"It's no wonder that you make no progress when you can't stop thinking of lechery even when studying advanced magic," he snarled, watching Harry reproachfully.

"Look, it's not my fault that this book can't keep my attention - it's simply boring!" Harry objected.

"And if I told you that this book holds the key to making you twice as powerful as you are now, would you still find it _boring_?"

"What?" Harry was completely baffled again. "You … Are you serious?"

Voldemort leaned to him, his cold fingers skimming over Harry's left cheek.

"Of course I am," he spoke in a quiet, cold voice. "And I could teach you all of that, even though you are the worst case of a repressed wizard I've ever come across. I admit that it would take some time to repair the damage Dumbledore committed on you, but nothing is lost for you yet. Besides, it is always much easier to work with someone like you than some hopeless ungifted half-Squibs without any chance of improvement."

"Repressed … Dumbledore ... what the hell are you talking about?" Harry stared at him, lost, shocked and angered, but the Dark Lord just snorted.

"Your _beloved _Headmaster didn't really trust you, did he? He didn't show you how to become great, because he thought that you wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of power, that you would yield to its allurement just like he did. Therefore, he decided to turn you into a little, harmless scapegoat. A mere tool for his great achievements. And you happily indulged his every whim, becoming his private brainless servant..."

"YOU'RE WRONG!" Harry bellowed and quickly covered his mouth as he realized his mistake.

"You're wrong," he snarled icily again, once he was sure that he didn't hear Ron's footsteps.

"Am I?" Voldemort sneered, making Harry's blood boil.

"I was by no means his _servant_. I didn't have to do anything, it was purely my choice! No one forced me! Can you say the same about _your_ servants?" Harry sputtered indignantly.

"My Death Eaters shall not concern you. But back to the topic, I'm offering you to teach you. I'm giving you a chance to vastly extend your knowledge and abilities. You've never tried to test your own magic, find its limits and move beyond them, have you? You weren't improving in anything, you're still using the wand the same way you did ten years ago. But saying the incantation and hoping that _something_ will do the trick is not the way it works. You must realize this if you want to move to the next level."

Harry sighed quietly. He rubbed his temples, thinking, trying to make the right decision.

"Why?" he asked finally. "Why would you do this for me?"

"Consider it as a reward."

"I wasn't doing any of this to be rewarded!"

"I know," Voldemort said softly. "But I insist. You have some significant, seriously underused potential worth exploring."

"I am by no means special," Harry shook his head.

"On the contrary, Harry, you are very special. If you knew how much time I spent planning your destruction and yet you're still alive, you would see yourself differently."

Harry sighed quietly.

"Please, don't remind me of that when I'm trying my best to forget it." He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing the skin there. "You … being my teacher... It feels kinda wrong. I need to think it over."

"And here I thought that you would do anything to protect the people you care about," the Dark Lord sneered a little. "You could be great, you know? Don't you want to be famous for your abilities rather than my failures?"

Harry wanted to shake his head, but something stopped him. It was a distant memory he recalled by chance.

"Great you say... This is really strange. I feel that someone already told me this before, but I can't just remember... Hang on … yes! That's it! It was the night when I was sorted into Gryffindor. That time the Sorting Hat told me that I could be great in Slytherin. No, that's not exactly accurate... It said that Slytherin _will_ help me on the way to greatness. It said that there's no doubt about it."

With a dawning realization Harry slowly turned at his greatly disturbed ex-nemesis.

"This sounds pretty insane, but could the Hat not mean the House … but the person?"

Harry dismissed the thought right away. No, the Sorting Hat couldn't be talking about Voldemort. It was just some sort of incredible coincidence, he decided. Voldemort, however, didn't even seem to be listening. He was taken aback by something else.

"How is that possible that you were in Gryffindor when the Sorting Hat wanted to place you in Slytherin? Could it be that Dumbledore...?"

"No!" Harry nearly laughed. "The Sorting Hat ultimately put me in Gryffindor because I asked not to go in Slytherin! Dumbledore had nothing to do with that."

"You refused … _my _House?-! The most noble, revered and respectable House of the Four?"

"Well, yes … I did."

It sounded harsh, almost like a snub. Harry regretted it instantly, especially when Voldemort stiffly rose to his feet with the clear intention to leave Harry alone.

"I did it because I already had friends in Gryffindor and enemies in Slytherin, not because I thought of Slytherin as something _unworthy_ of my presence," Harry added quickly before Tom could get his feelings completely hurt.

But the Dark Lord didn't acknowledged that he heard him and set out for the door.

"Wait! _Please!_" Harry caught up with him, seizing his hand, clutching it. He couldn't let him go while he was mad at him. He needed to explain it.

"Don't be angry. That was how I felt it and so I made that decision accordingly..."

Voldemort turned to him, his face calm and even without signs of wrath.

"You always do things your own way, don't you? I shall know you better to realize this sooner. Anyway, it time for you to wake Weasley up. Get some sleep, Harry."

Harry sighed in relief and quickly circled his other hand around Voldemort's neck. The kiss which followed was slow, gentle, teasing and thrilling. Everything Harry wanted it to be and needed it to be. It washed away his angst, leaving the pleasant numbness which filled him to the core.

Now Harry wanted him to stay even more than before, but it wasn't possible.

Their lips finally parted, leaving them both silent and slightly breathless.

"Before you go, can I have a one more question?" Harry whispered, watching the older wizard reached for the handle. He turned it open and looked back at Harry, waiting.

"I would really like to know what the Sorting Hat told you before it called the name of your House."

A small smile formed on his pale lips for the shortest moment before it was gone, just like the Dark Lord.

"It said welcome back."

xxxxx

_The Shrieking Shack_

_28__th__ December 2000, 08:12_

When Harry woke up next morning, he wasn't surprised to see the dingy room empty. Ron was probably still downstairs, waiting for Hermione's return. Harry came closer to the boarded window and looked through the narrow chink outside. The weather was cloudy today, the sky reminded him of a heavy greyish blanket covering the whole sky. It gave him chills.

Feeling sudden uneasiness, Harry turned from the window and headed to the bathroom. He hurried to finish the all necessary morning procedures and then descended the stairs, finding his best friend getting dressed. Ron didn't notice him yet for he was putting on a warm wooly over his head.

"Hey, Ron. Where are you going?" Harry asked in a quiet voice. A strange foreboding told him that something wasn't all right.

"Oh, Harry!" his friend turned to him quickly. "I was just about to wake you up."

"But where are you going?"

"I … I'm really sorry Harry. I can't wait any longer. Hermione was supposed to be back half an hour ago. I can't imagine what would I do if anything happened to her... Anyway, I'm going back to the castle. I must find her."

That unpleasant feeling Harry had ever since he woke up grew rapidly in strength.

"I don't know Ron … just give her a little more time. I'm sure she'll come back."

"I can't," Ron shook his head. "Please, come with me, Harry. I don't want you to stay here with _him_ alone," his ginger haired friend said urgently.

"I … I'll be alright, Ron," Harry stuttered nervously, fearing that Ron would implore him to leave Voldemort behind in order to search for Hermione. Harry wanted – no, he desperately needed – to know that she was all right, but sacrificing Tom for that information was unthinkable.

Fortunately, Ron only nodded, zipping his jacket. Harry felt no relief though. Something was telling him that he shouldn't let him go. But how could he stop him?

"Ron, I know it is hard, but wait a little longer, please," he tried again, but his friend shook his head again.

"I really _can't_, Harry. She means everything to me. I'll be back as soon as possible. I swear."

And then he was gone, leaving Harry alone with that ominous feeling.

For a good five minutes the young man could only stare at the old, wizened door before him. Only the softest creaking of the staircase indicating that the last inhabitant of the Shack was coming downstairs disturbed his stupor.

Harry turned his gaze to him and for a moment he stood breathless. Voldemort was gorgeous of course, there was no reason to doubt that, but this was about something else. Tom's face, his pose, his whole visage implied that he regained a considerable amount of his health already. His scarlet eyes gleamed lively and one corner of his mouth was curled upward as he regarded Harry attentively.

Without saying a single word he came closer to him, his large pale hands touched Harry's face, stroking his cheekbones. His fingertips were soon replaced by his lips which took part in a brief survey of Harry's face before reuniting with his mouth.

Their kisses quickly became the most natural thing for Harry. There was no fierce aggression, no fight for dominance, only a slow pleasurable dance of their lips and tongues, going back and forth as Harry repeatedly took or followed the lead. Though Voldemort's mouth felt cool against his, Harry couldn't miss the strange rush of something hot and pulsing beneath his skin whenever their mouths touched. He didn't know what that feeling was, but he could feel the pleasure it brought on.

"_**Harrry," **_Voldemort broke the kiss to hiss his name softly, emphasizing the middle syllable.

"Do I understand correctly that Weasley finally left? What a lucky day it is," he smiled wickedly, licking the rim of Harry's earlobe.

"Well, he... uh!"

Harry's thoughts became highly inconsistent as the firm, tall body was suddenly firmly pressed against his, showing him in detail how much Voldemort enjoyed their previous kissing session. It shut Harry's mouth for a while. There was apparently an indisputable difference between seeing the Dark Lord's arousal encased in his trousers and feeling it rubbing against his belly. But what was even worse, he felt his own member stir against the thigh he so thoroughly groped last night.

"Lecherous thoughts, Tom?" Harry stuttered out and sucked in a breath as he felt the slim hips thrust forward, squeezing his quickly heating parts.

"I believe I can afford to have them every once in a while," the chilling voice breathed into his ear as the cold hand slowly wandered to the curve of his buttocks.

"L … look, we can't," Harry said quickly for his brain threatened to cease working. "Ron and Hermione will be back soon. They would get the wrong idea... Or, maybe they would get the right idea, but I really don't want them – especially Ron – to know about this so if we could..."

"What do you mean that they are coming back?-!" Voldemort snarled, his scorching eyes instantly boring into Harry's.

"Oh, not that again! I know that you don't like them but for the time being you have to put up with their presence," Harry protested.

Harry expected to see a sneer or a glare, but nothing in the world could prepare him for Voldemort's explosion of fury.

"YOU BUNCH OF MORONS!" the Dark Lord bellowed, pushing Harry forcefully aside, that he stumbled and fell.

"After all the things I told you! After I warned you to avoid any mistakes! Haven't I told you that vampires are the most effective trackers of all? Don't you remember how easily Negura broke the Fidelius Charm? Do you think that your pitiful protective enchantments would represent a problem for _him_ if he got on the right track?"

Harry scrambled back on his feet with some difficulty, because his body froze in terror after hearing those words.

"Does it means that my friends … are in danger?"

"YOUR FRIENDS?-!" Voldemort laughed maniacally. His laughter died at once and his face turned into a cold mask.

"Negura is not interested in your stupid friends, Potter! He wants to kill _you _and most of all _me_!" the Dark Lord sputtered in rage. "Tell me boy, tell me when the mudblood was supposed to return?-!"

Harry didn't listen. His thoughts were reeling, and his head was spinning. And yet he was able to make as instant decision.

"I have to help them!" he said resolutely.

A cold hand squeezed his armpit.

"Have you lost your mind?-! Or do you want to die that much, Potter?-!"

"I HAVE TO HELP THEM!" Harry roared and Voldemort snarled back.

"Your death is not going to save them!"

"I MUST DO SOMETHING!"

"THEN APPARATE US!"

Harry's head throbbed so much that it could split in half. Some incredible weight in his stomach was sending him to his knees. But he pulled out the yew wand and slowly nodded.

"I'll take you to safety and go back to save my friends."

The clutch at his armpit tightened as he envisioned the possible places. Picking one option he prepared for the Apparation, then took a deep breath and turn on the spot … and fell to the ground, staring at the cracked ceiling of the Shrieking Shack.

"What is this? What happened? Don't tell me that..." he said breathlessly, staring at the Dark Lord, who remained standing, unshaken.

"It's clear now. Negura already knows where we are. This is the Anti-Disapparation Jinx which means that we're being cornered by Aurors at this very moment. They shall be here within minutes."

It was impossible how cold and emotionless Voldemort's voice became. Harry couldn't even recognize it.

"No," he whispered. "This can't be... We have to escape … we must run!"

Voldemort didn't pay him attention. He seized the Dark Detectors, both of them began to shine and whistle madly – and he smashed them against the wall. But that was just a beginning of his destruction rampage. The same fate met the jar with flames, which immediately set the floor on fire and the next in order was Hermione's traveling bag which ended up in the growing fire.

"What are you doing?-!" Harry screamed, but Riddle ignored him and ran upstairs, his long black robes fluttering behind him. Harry followed him and burst into his bedroom just to see another jar being broken and his small bag meeting the same fate as Hermione's valise. But Voldemort didn't stop at it and began to break the furniture.

The only thing Harry could think of after seeing this was that the Dark Lord went totally haywire.

"What the hell are you doing?-!" he bellowed again, failing to see how this could possibly help them with anything.

Voldemort finally seemed to be done. He turned to him, breathing wildly, the firelight strangely reflecting in his eyes.

"Destroying the evidence," he said in a clear, cold voice. "There is only one way left now."

Harry didn't know what he meant but he didn't have a time to ask. There was a loud bang coming from the downstairs as if someone was trying to break through the boarded windows.

The air was filled with smoke and Harry's eyes began to water. He didn't cease watching Voldemort though.

"Hide somewhere. I'll do my best to protect you," he promised, wand in his hand.

Something flashed in those scarlet eyes, something tremendously reminding him of _regret_. Voldemort parted his lips to speak – and closed them again. The pearly eyelids covered his eyes and the Dark Lord took a deep breath. When he opened them again, all Harry could see was calm determination.

"That won't be necessary. I don't need your protection anymore. It seems that the right time has come already," the Dark Lord spoke icily.

And then he moved incredibly fast and did something Harry couldn't possibly expect. The yew wand was ripped out of his hand and a burst of magic set him flying against the wall, which the young man impacted hardly.

Something cracked, probably some of his ribs. Harry screamed, blinded by the pain. He was in shock. Why did Voldemort do this to him? If he wanted his wand, why didn't he ask for it? Harry would have given it to him for sure. He forced himself to open his eyes, glaring at the shadowy figure, holding his sore chest. He spat some blood on the floor and asked in a raspy voice.

"What was that for-?"

"_Crucio!"_

Harry's worst nightmares came true. Before the all-consuming pain washed away his rational thinking, he catch a glimpse of his own immense stupidity.

Voldemort was using him all the time. And now when he didn't need him anymore, he wanted to play a little before he killed him and left.

Then the pain won and Harry just screamed and screamed. His body was on fire, hot knives pierced every inch of his skin until he couldn't take it anymore and he wished to stop existing, stop breathing, stop feeling anything and die...

And when it finally stopped, he felt like an empty shell on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. He was pathetic. The betrayal he felt was absolutely destructive. If possible, it was even worse than the pains the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body. Never in his life had he received such a lesson. He always trusted his heart because Dumbledore told him that it would protect him. He was such a fool. Hermione was right all the time when she warned him not to follow what he desired. He didn't listen to her and now he payed.

A noise and voices were coming from downstairs, but Harry didn't listen. All he heard were the soft steps which approached him slowly and all he could think of was not again, please, not again.

He was weak, defeated, broken. Tears were running over his face in rivulets and it cost him nearly all his willpower not to cry openly.

Voldemort knelt down to him and his cold hand gently stroked his face. Harry flinched at that touch. It was sick, he couldn't stand it.

He wanted to keep his treacherous mouth shut and hold back all the pathetic words he wanted to say and he succeeded with one exception.

"_Why?"_

It was a mere wheezing whimper, barely audible. Voldemort leaned closer to him and even over the mist before his eyes Harry could see that there was no excitement or malicious glee distorting his features. His face was as empty as Harry felt inside.

Loud steps resonated through the house, quickly heading upstairs. Everything would end soon, Harry knew that. It was over. He was going to die.

It was right then that Voldemort spoke to him, saying something which didn't make any sense to Harry. The Dark Lord's lips barely moved, but his shining eyes were intense, carrying a clear message.

"If you are as clever as I think you are, you will understand."

Then he rose to his full height and took several steps backward, getting his wand at ready.

The next second the Aurors burst inside the room and Voldemort knocked them all down with a single wave of his wand.

Harry was half delirious. He didn't see much, only that by the second attack one of the shack's old walls gave out. It crumbled apart and let in a fresh cold air, feeding the fire. Then there were screams and more sounds of explosions which lasted for few minutes. Finally, most of the tumult died down.

"Look there! It's Harry Potter!" someone screamed.

"Oh, Merlin! He's hurt! Get a healer! Quickly!" another voice responded.

Someone moved with him and Harry opened his eyes which he closed sometime during the battle. If his body still wasn't burning, he would've froze in fear. His head rested in a lap of some woman, turned in a way that he could see a person who stood a couple of feet away from him.

Negura.

He was watching him, cold blue eyes filled with the utmost detestation, barely hiding his rage, but he didn't move. He didn't say a word.

"V...Voldemort...," Harry stuttered out the single word and the woman replied in a soothing voice.

"I'm sorry, he escaped. But you're safe now, Harry. We'll be taking you to St. Mungo's..."

Harry wanted to ask many other things about Hermione and Ron, but his mouth didn't respond anymore. And so he closed his eyes again, trying to sustain the hurt which was far worse than a simple Cruciatus Curse could induce.

_**R&R**_


	8. The last warning

**Author's note: **Hello, my dear readers! Yes, I'm back with a new chapter which I hope some of you have been waiting for. Here it is for you to enjoy it! If you feel like reviewing it, you're of course welcome as always!

Many thanks to my great (and very fast and absolutely awesome) beta: **TheSecretUchiha**

Rating of this chapter: T

**The last warning**

xxxxx

_T__he Burrow_

_30__th__ December 2000, 1__0__:__35_

Harry had no idea how he managed to survive the next two days. He didn't remember much from the hospital, where he spend the first ten hours after the attack. He was still thoroughly sick when the Order came to transfer him to the Burrow. From all the things which he happened to remember, there were only two events which stayed clear in his mind. The first was the sight of Ron yapping at George who taunted him about his messy looks and the second was Hermione talking to him in a quiet, apologizing voice. Seeing both his friends alive and uninjured lifted a heavy burden from his shoulders, chasing away that crushing anxiety which had continuously built in him ever since they separated. However, there was a bad side to everything. Once his worries left him, it was much harder not to think about how much every cell of his body hurt.

The following night was the hardest. It was probably only thanks to Molly Weasley's constant care that he lasted it with his sanity intact.

The next day passed considerably faster because the pain started to recede and he spent most of the day asleep. Mrs. Weasley woke him up only for meals and medicine. As she repeatedly told him, nothing could heal him better than a proper rest. It was also why she prohibited Ron, Hermione and other members of the Order to come to visit him.

But today he was going to see them again. Finally, he will get the answers to questions which harrowed him for so long.

Harry glanced aside and noticed two rolled up newspapers lying beside his bed. Molly had brought them along with his breakfast. Harry took one of them and adjusted the pillow under his head. He browsed the pages quickly, deliberately passing the front page with a photo of his grinning face. His resolution to ignore that page didn't last long however; he returned to it few moments later out of sheer curiosity. A big title above his picture proudly announced **THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED:** **A HERO AGAIN**. After reading that line, his eyes quickly located the article below, where Rita Skeeter picturesquely described how bravely he captured He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, how unreasonably he tried to thwart his escape and how he eventually became the captive of the Dark Lord in return. Skeeter was groping in the dark when she attempted to explain his miraculous survival. Harry was sure that she had to expect disbelief from her readers. That was probably why she decided to enhance the credibility of her story with a completely fabricated interview.

Harry sputtered in anger and threw the papers away.

But the damage was done already.

His memories brought him back to the Shack, where he was facing Voldemort again. The scene where he was tortured replayed before his eyes.

"_If you are as clever as I think you are, you will understand."_

This sentence chased away the rest of Harry's repose. It frustrated him that he was so clueless about what Riddle meant by this. Clearly, he wasn't clever enough. He couldn't think of another reason why Voldemort considered it necessary to use the Cruciatus Curse aside from his private delectation in seeing him broken and cheapened.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears of shame and disillusion in the corners. Hermione warned him that this would happen if he unreasonably gave in his feelings. Why did she always have to be right about everything?

But no matter how hard it was for him, he decided to find out the truth. Even if Voldemort wanted nothing else beside seeing him hurt, he needed to know. He was aware of the crimes which Voldemort had committed in the past, so he should be able to see the reality as it was. There was, however, one neglected and yet very important fact about Riddle which gave his broken heart a petty hope. Harry was the only one who saw the remaining fragment of Voldemort's humanity, that maimed bit of his soul which kept him alive. Regardless of how much Lord Voldemort tried to deny it, he was condemned to exist with it till his very last breath. He could never fully renounce the source of his life force. Surprisingly, everyone ignored this fact including the Dark Lord himself and that allowed Harry to reach his suffering soul with so little effort. And he could recall some amazing moments when he was sure he felt it respond.

A sudden soft knock on the door freed him from his deep thoughts. Harry opened his eyes which he had closed sometime during his contemplation and said.

"Come in."

"Harry?"

He recognized the voice right away and sat up hastily.

"Hermione … Ron! Oh, finally you're here! What took you so long?"

His friends rushed over to him, Hermione taking a seat on the edge of his bed, while Ron plopped down on a creaky chair beside her, speaking immediately.

"Harry! We wanted to come to you much sooner, but my mom was watching us all the time. You can't imagine how overprotective of you she was for the past two days. George even suggested using the Extendable Ears so we could check if you're still breathing in case that she was hiding your dead body..."

"Anyway," he said when Hermione cast a strict glance at him, "how do you feel, mate?"

"Perfect," Harry lied, but only a little bit.

"Nah, if I were you, I wouldn't say perfect mere days after being tortured by a snake-face, who got this chance because my idiotic best friend left me alone...," Ron muttered, his voice depressed.

"Which only happened because I couldn't come back to you. I shouldn't have left you in the first place," Hermione added sadly. "Harry we're … I am so sorry! I don't know where I got that absurd idea that You-Know-Who cared about you... It was so silly of me to think that you were safe around him! How could I be this stupid!"

"Well," Harry coughed to clear his throat. "Don't let it bother you now and rather tell me what happened to you … both."

"Oh … of course that you don't know anything. It's just...," Hermione hesitated and looked at Ron, biting her lip. "You need to know about what happened … but, I promised Molly to warn you beforehand. You shouldn't get … overexcited while you're weakened and one of the reasons why we couldn't talk to you sooner is … that you surely will after hearing what I'm about to say."

"Don't make me anxious, Hermione," Harry said tensely. "I'm worried enough even without you making it worse!"

She hesitantly pushed a tangled lock of her hair behind her ear and sighed. Her eyes couldn't hide the grief she felt as she spoke haltingly.

"Dennis Creevy … he was attacked by a vampire."

Harry just stared at her at first, his body becoming numb as his mind was flooded with memories of Angelina, of her face and clothes stained with blood, of her blank eyes watching him lifelessly...

"How is he?" he asked in a mere whisper, fearing the answer.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but her voice failed and she merely shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes.

"No!" Harry choked out. Some invisible rope tightened around his throat, slowly throttling him. "Please, he can't be..."

Ron, seeing that Hermione couldn't answer him, broke the silence with his grave voice.

"He was murdered, Harry."

"But how?-!" Harry sputtered furiously and scrambled to his feet. "How could it happen?-! Was he attacked in the school?-!"

Ron glanced down at his folded hands. Even over his frenzy Harry noticed how crushed he looked.

"We don't know much about what happened, only that his body was found outside the castle grounds. The Ministry is trying to cover it up for apparent reasons. But we all know that the vampires were in the castle the night we helped You-Know-Who escape. It is more than possible that some of Negura's freaks … became too hungry."

Harry curled his fingers into a fist in rage, breathing heavily.

"I wish I could...," he growled through his teeth.

"Kill them all? Yeah, everyone here feels the same," Ron nodded vigorously. Harry just rubbed his nape, staring at his feet.

"I guess he was turned into vampire then?" he asked flatly. His limbs suddenly felt too weak and heavy to carry his weight and he sank back on the bed.

"Oddly, he wasn't. The worst part of it is that his body wasn't even found in one piece. According to the Aurors who found him, they blamed the crime on some ravenous werewolf first. Which was impossible because there was still three days to the full moon," Ron quietly explained.

"Moreover, werewolves aren't overly partial to drinking human blood and yet Dennis didn't have left a single drop in his veins. His murderer had to be a vampire," Hermione finished once she regained her lost voice.

Harry was horror-struck. Until now, he considered vampires as a _problem_ which should be solved soon, if possible. The situation and his priorities changed dramatically. His fight wasn't just about Negura now.

"Whoever did that … he or she will pay for it. I promise," he said in a cold voice.

"Unfortunately, that's not all," Hermione whispered. Her face was paler than a paper.

"What?-! Don't tell me there's more!"

"Yes, you should know about that _accident_ too. It was in all Muggle news."

"What accident?" Harry asked breathlessly.

She sighed quietly, rubbing the small crease on her forehead. "Two days ago, "she began, "a bus carrying about fifty people fell off the London bridge. Though the rescue workers arrived on the place of the accident within fifteen minutes, no one was saved. They only found fourteen bodies. Six children and eight retiree. The rest are gone."

A heavy silence filled the room until Harry finally broke it with a curse.

"Vampires?"

"Yes. Negura no longer terrorizes only our wizarding population. His previous army of murdered Azkaban's prisoners was eradicated by You-Know-Who. Now he's lacking suitable candidates, especially if we consider that he doesn't want to attack the magicians openly. Therefore his troops began to slaughter muggles. As far as they have no usage for children and old people, the monsters simply _helped _them to drown so there would be no witnesses. Moreover, Negura surely picked this strategy because he can easily pass the buck onto He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who is known for his endless hatred of muggles," Hermione finished with revulsion.

"Which of course doesn't mean that You-Know-Who is any lesser evil than that disgusting leech," Ron quickly added, probably expecting that Harry would like to hear that.

However, Harry didn't listen to him. He was too shaken, because he remembered seeing Negura for a brief moment before the Aurors took him to the hospital. He remembered the fear he felt when their eyes met. This fear was gone now, replaced by scalding hatred.

"Hermione," he said in a quiet voice. "What happened to you? Why couldn't you return from Hogwarts?" He changed the topic, but he didn't close it. Negura would have to pay for his crimes. It sickened and maddened him that a man who was once a hero and a protector of innocents turned into one of those he swore to eradicate. Harry finally saw how far a hunger for revenge could go.

"They didn't let me go," Hermione whispered insistently, breaking him from his thoughts. "After Dennis was found, the whole school was turned upside down, everyone was watched, everyone was questioned. I couldn't leave no matter how much I wanted to!"

Harry just nodded.

"And what about you, Ron? What happened to you?"

"Er...," Ron coughed. "I made it nearly to the school. They caught me nearby the Whomping Willow. At first it was only the Aurors which I could easily convince to let me go after I proved that I wasn't the one responsible for Dennis' death. But then _he _appeared and I was in a big trouble."

"Negura?" Harry breathed out as he saw Ron nervously gnaw at his lower lip. "You saw him?-!"

"He questioned me," Ron whispered, his face getting a sightly greenish shade.

"He used _Veritaserum_ on me and asked two things. Where was You-Know-Who and if you were with him. I couldn't lie Harry! I had to answer him. You can't imagine the way he looked at me after that … I can't even compare it with You-Know-Who's stare. I was so scared … that everything was lost … that you were going to die because of me!"

Ron looked downcast and sighed.

"I was raving," he muttered. "I begged the Aurors to stop him. I was on my knees, crying and pleading like a child. And do you want to know what was the worst part? I was in fact holding them back while that damned snake tortured you. I know I terribly screwed it up, Harry. I shouldn't have left you, but the desire to see Hermione, to check if she was all right, it was stronger than me. I'm so sorry!"

"Don't apologize, Ron. You didn't do anything wrong. But I still have to wonder how is it possible that the Aurors didn't arrest you once you told them all these things."

"Oh, you can bet they wanted to arrest me. I'm sure that they would love to send me to Azkaban right away. They surely thought that you and I pledged our alliance to You-Know-Who. Fortunately, they changed their opinion once they found you in the Shrieking Shack. They set me free a couple of hours later for they were sure that You-Know-Who merely placed the Imperius Curse upon me. You can imagine that I didn't protest very much."

"Which means that Voldemort decision to torture me … saved your life … and mine as well," Harry finished, astounded by this realization.

"Harry," Ron fidgeted a bit. "I know that I wouldn't survive an hour in Azkaban, but I really didn't wanted to imply that what you went through was helpful in any way. What You-Know-Who did to you was the most heinous crime!"

Harry straightened his back and said.

"And that's exactly why it helped us so much! I just didn't understand it at first!"

"What do you mean by that, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly and Ron immediately joined her.

"Yeah, what are you talking about?"

Harry looked at Ron and then at Hermione and edged closer to them. He felt a surge of new energy running through his veins. Finally he began to see things the way he should've from the beginning.

"Come on, don't you remember what he told us?" he insisted. "He said that Negura will try to damage my image and send the Aurors against me. That he was waiting for my mistake! And that's exactly what happened. Apparently, Voldemort was the only one prepared for this!"

"Prepared for what?-! He simply tortured you!" Ron sputtered out.

"Yeah! But imagine what would happen if he didn't! If he left me there just like that? I would be immediately convinced of treachery and Negura would kill me on the spot or send me to Azkaban! And what if Voldemort let me fight the Aurors as I suggested?"

"You wanted to fight the Aurors?-!" Ron butted in.

Harry pretended he didn't hear him and quickly continued.

"They would kill me for sure. What chance would I stand against them? Basically, it wouldn't matter if I fought back or not. I'd be dead either way!"

"But he could … hypothetically take you along with him. You could escape both. Nothing bad _had to_ happen to you," Hermione said in a firm voice.

"Maybe," Harry nodded. "If he did take me with him, I would become an outcast. You know that I would never become a Death Eater just as I woudn't be able to come back and live a normal life. Negura would use this to destroy my reputation completely. I would be more hated than anyone, even Voldemort. I would lose everything, Hermione."

There was a moment of tense silence, after which Hermione whispered.

"So he was really doing you a _favour_? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Harry understood her consternation completely. She was also exposed to the agonizing effects of the Cruciatus Curse once. Everyone who ever felt it once would do anything to avoid this pain again. It made sense that she refused to see his point.

"Yes, definitely," he nodded slowly. "His idea was actually quite brilliant if you consider that he had a couple of minutes at most to come up with this plan to … _save_ me, if I can use this word. So yes, it was a favour, coming from him, I'm sure he considered it that way."

As his friends continued to stare at him in disbelief, Harry's conviction that this was the answer he was looking for strengthened.

"I don't know Harry," Ron said hesitantly after a while. "This can be just a weird coincidence or something. I can't believe that You-Know-Who really wanted to save you without having any profit out of it."

Harry frowned.

"Maybe it's strange for you, but why else would he say 'If you are as clever as I think you are, you will understand' before he used that curse?"

"That's what he told you?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

Ron looked at Hermione and back at him, failing to hide his bewilderment.

"So he really planned this out? But why would he want to do anything for _you_? It's You-Know-Who! He doesn't care for anyone except himself!"

"He's apparently in an open war with Negura," Hermione said bemusedly. "He lost many Death Eaters and he's trying to find allies even among those who he previously detested. He knows that Harry has a great influence on public opinion and he probably wants to use it. Negura on the other hand tried to destroy Harry because he wants to gain an absolute control which would help him hide the truth about his past and origin. He failed, which shows that Harry is probably right. You-Know-Who must have been thinking about this. Obviously, Harry's popularity keeps Negura in check."

Ron scratched his forehead.

"Blimey, this is like an advanced game of wizard chess! Tell me, Harry, how does it feel to be You-Know-Who's knight?"

"It's hard to say, but you can help me with that. If I'm his knight then you're one of his pawns too," Harry grinned and punched his friend's shoulder.

Ron's chin dropped immediately. Harry judged that he didn't expect that his comment could so easily backfire on him.

In that brief moment of quietness which followed, before Ron dismissed it as a joke, Harry became absorbed in his thoughts again. He tried to reconsider what happened between him and Voldemort and while he was doing that, he discovered the reason behind his deep and persistent discontent. Harry realized that he didn't know whether the Dark Lord decided to help him because he merely considered him an important ally or if he had also a different motivation. Harry couldn't tell for sure whether Voldemort really liked him or if his previous interest was just a part of the game. If only the Dark Lord didn't stay true to his name and become something more than a riddle which Harry couldn't puzzle out.

Later, Harry joined Ron and Hermione as they went downstairs to greet Charlie who just arrived from Romania. They discussed what was new for a while before their chat turned to vampires and Negura. As expected, Charlie had never heard of him because his main interest was dragons, not vampires. He, however, confirmed that Romania was a country with the largest number of vampires per magician in Europe. He also said that it was unusual to see them as organized and united as they were under Negura's leadership.

Harry unfortunately didn't see how this information could help them with anything.

After lunch, he and Ron tried to go through his correspondence which kept piling on the dining table ever since the early morning. Most of the letters were written by his fans who were telling him of their endless love and adoration. Beside that, Harry also received three proposals of marriage, six vials of love potion, which automatically popped open when he unwrapped them, and numerous candy boxes filled with similar stuff.

"Look Harry, here's another one," Ron grinned at him and drew out another small bottle from the little packet. "This way you can soon start resupplying George's shop. I talked to him this morning and he told me that he always runs short of his stock of love potions whenever you have an interview in the Prophet."

"You meant a fake interview," Harry corrected him pointedly.

"So what? Skeeter didn't write anything offensive about you which is quite unusual considering her usual style," Ron replied casually. "Oh, I found a note...," he said excitedly and drew out a small pink piece of paper which was previously attached to the bottle."You'll like this. It's another 'Marry me, Harry!' She is the fourth one today. It's your record, isn't it?"

Harry sighed and looked at another pink envelope in his hand.

"Who is she?" he asked insipidly.

"Eloise Midgen," Ron said and hesitated a little. "Is it just me or do you also find that name familiar?" He flipped the small paper over several times as if he was looking for a sign which would help him identify the girl.

Harry put the letter on the table and rubbed his burning eyes.

"Wasn't she the one who wrote to me last time insisting that I should hang myself on my intestines?"

"If you're referring to that letter which you received shortly after Skeeter published that awful article about your visits of ... the fancy houses, then no, I don't think it was her. Eloise Midgen isn't the name of some Slytherin weirdo."

"Anyway," Harry sighed, "what's the most polite way of telling a girl that you're not interested?"

"You're never interested!" Ron protested and Harry looked back at the pink envelope. He didn't want to discuss this with Ron now. He tore the paper open and heard a short snap. A second later he was splattered by a fair dose of an overly sweet perfume. He cursed aloud, rubbing the droplets from his nose and chin.

"These girls are crazy," he complained, failing to hide his fret. "And it seems that they are trying turn me insane too."

"Most guys wouldn't mind too much if girls were desperately trying to get their attention. Besides, I'm convinced that one of those chicks is surely the one you're looking for," Ron held his own and pulled out a simple yellow envelope from the dozens of brightly coloured ones and waved it in front of Harry's face.

"Ron, we've been through this many times. I do not want to be seeing someone who likes me only for that scar on my forehead."

"I know," Ron shrugged. "But I also don't see you giving a chance to anyone."

Harry sighed. He knew that Ron wanted him to go on dates. He felt twice as bad about it now when his poor friend didn't have the slightest idea that he had no intention to have an affair with any of these girls. His heart was already taken.

"So what about this letter?" Ron continued, unaware of Harry's pained expression.

"No perfumes," he added and smelled it, "no love potion inside, and look – it's not even pink!"

Ron shook it in front of his eyes again to prove his point.

"And also no 'My dearest, sweetest, strongest, bravest Harry'," he added with a raised eyebrow.

"What's written there then?" Harry asked tiredly.

"Only your name. And curiously, there's also no sender. Strange, isn't it? I'll read it, okay?"

"Wait!"

Harry didn't know what made him jump up like that. It had to be that sudden premonition which told him that the letter was only for his eyes.

He took the envelope from Ron and quickly glanced at his name written in that precise, elegant and completely inimitable fashion.

He immediately recognized it and gasped for breath.

It had to be from _him_. He couldn't be mistaken. Hundreds of questions debouched in his mind that instant, one more confusing than the other.

"Harry?"

Ron's carefully controlled voice told him that he had failed to hide his shock.

"Are you all right?"

Harry looked up at his friend and forced a quick smile on his lips.

"Yeah, I just … feel a bit tired all of sudden."

Ron didn't seem convinced.

"Are you sure you're fine? I could tell my mom to look at you if..."

"That's not necessary, Ron," Harry said more harshly than he intended. He quickly corrected himself. "I'm really all right, okay?"

Ron slowly nodded and Harry didn't wait for anything and within a moment he was upstairs, tearing the envelope apart.

His hands shook so much that he nearly dropped the small piece of parchment which he found inside. Harry came closer to the window and read the message several times.

_31__st_ _December 2000, 11:00 p.m._

_72 Abbey Road, Axminster_

And that was all. Just that date and address. Harry secretly hoped to read some apology, he at least expected an explanation confirming some of his deductions, but not this. Voldemort didn't even bother to communicate with him in a common, civil way. If this was supposed to be some sort of invitation, Harry didn't feel like coming.

He felt cheated and his anger thrived in him again.

"Damn you!" he vented his frustration and furiously kicked his old school trunk which was unlucky to stand right beside him. It clattered and crashed over on the floor.

"I don't think it's your trunk's fault."

Harry span around, seeing Hermione standing at the door.

"Ron told me that you are feeling unwell," she continued as she came over to him and sat down onto the bed. "I wanted to ask if something's bothering you but the question seems a bit redundant now."

Harry sighed and propped himself against a waist-high cabinet beside the window. "I'm just frustrated which means that everything's back to normal," he said in a bitter voice.

"What happened?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry snorted and handed her the small piece of parchment.

"Just read this and you'll know," he said.

But the moment her fingers touched the paper, it burst into flames. She yelped and dropped it quickly and only her fast reflexes saved her from serious burns.

Harry, realizing what could have happened, was aghast.

"I … I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I really didn't expect this … are you all right?"

"Yes," she nodded and rubbed her reddened fingers. "I assume that the sender holds some grudge against me."

"Not only you," Harry muttered, still stunned. "I underestimated the risk greatly..."

"I think that it was a message from You-Know-Who," Hermione said evenly as if she talked about the weather.

Harry knew that there was no reason to hide the truth from her.

"He wants me to meet him … I think," he said then, breaking their eye contact. "He just wrote me about when and where but didn't explain anything."

Hermione slowly got up and came closer to him.

"Harry, I don't think you should go. Please, don't forget that he regained his powers which makes him extremely dangerous. He may have treated you kindly for past few days, but that may change. Besides, you have seen yourself that he has no problem when it comes to torturing you."

"I didn't say that I would go there," Harry replied quickly and looked out of the window at the grey sky so his eyes wouldn't give him away.

"But you want to," Hermione said calmly.

It took him a long moment before he nodded. He should have known that it was pointless to pretend otherwise.

"Yes." His voice sounded empty to his ears. "I've lost that fight with myself, Hermione. I can't deny I want to see him again."

She bit her lip and hesitated for a moment before she asked.

"Did … something happen when I was in the castle?"

Harry's eyes stayed fixed to the clouds as he nodded again.

"Oh," she breathed out softly. "That changes the situation..."

"Not really, Hermione," Harry stopped her and turned to her. "What exactly does it change? Nothing."

"Harry," she said slowly. "I warned you..."

"I remember what you said, but what am I supposed to do? I can't just stop feeling what I feel. Look, I understand why Ron had to leave the Shack. He needed to see you so much that it influenced his common sense. This is just as strong to me."

"But Harry..."

"I'm not saying that I don't doubt my sanity. That I don't regret I let it happen, that I'm not afraid of him and the things he could do, because I am. I don't know what he's planning, I have no idea why he sent me such a detached letter after we've been so... I can't even say how he feels about me because I _don't know_ … and yet … I need to... Just tell me I'm a helpless fool, Hermione."

Harry took in a shuddering breath and lay his forehead against the wall where he pressed it sometime during his rant. A small hand gently squeezed his shoulder. He turned to her and saw understanding and sympathy in her eyes.

"You're not a fool, Harry. You're in love," she whispered.

Her calm statement frightened Harry more than anything else.

"No! No, of course I'm not! I can't … be," he protested, shaking his head. "I'm not an idiot. I know that he doesn't even like me. Why else would he sent me such an indifferent note?"

Voicing out aloud his greatest fears was a natural defense against the possibility that Hermione could be right. And all Harry did was trying to fight it as much as he could.

"Well," Hermione sighed and propped herself against the window frame, looking at him directly. "There are two possible explanations."

"First, he doesn't really like you as you say," she stated evenly and Harry instantly felt crushed by that enunciation, "or second, he might like you and he doesn't know how to say he's sorry. It wouldn't be too surprising, I think. Actually, it reminds me a lot of Ron. Do you remember how he started dating Lavender Brown? He never told me he regretted his caddish behaviour though he had to know how much he hurt me. I really don't understand why you guys often have such a huge problem with saying 'I'm sorry'."

"I don't have a problem with it," Harry opposed her.

"That's true, you don't," she said and looked at him pensively.

"Probably because the Dursleys made me say it all the time," he spoke more to himself. Deep inside he already felt much better. Yes, Voldemort would never reduce himself to a person writing _sniveling apologies_, no matter how he really felt.

"So, what are you going to do, Harry?"

She tactfully reminded him that he should make a decision. Harry already knew what he would do. His resolve to find out the truth, regardless of the danger, didn't waver.

"I think I know already," she said before he could answer her. "Honestly, I would feel much better if we could come along with you, but I have a feeling that you wouldn't appreciate our presence very much."

Harry's lips slowly curved upward to form a real smile.

"That's very astute of you," he grinned.

She smiled back and took two steps towards the door. Suddenly, she halted and looked back at him.

"I won't tell Ron anything if you _promise _me that you'll come back unharmed."

"I promise I'll try my best, Hermione. I'll be leaving tomorrow evening, but first I need to come up with an excuse why I cannot join our New Year's party."

"I'll think of something," she said and the next moment she was gone.

xxxxx

_T__he Burrow_

_31__st__ December 2000, early evening_

Someone had to cast a spell which damaged the linearity of time. Harry came to this conclusion sometime during the day because as impossible as it seemed, the closer the moment of his departure was, the longer every minute appeared to be. He had been on his feet since the early morning, testing his strength and tenacity. It pleased him to discover that even after a couple of hours he didn't feel tired at all.

The main topic of the day was Percy who managed to contact them using a fireplace secretly connected to the Floo Network. He provided them with essential information on the Ministry situation. Harry was shocked when he heard of what awful job Ron's older brother was assigned to do. Once Molly heard of it, she immediately begged him to come home. Dennis' death took its toll on her and she was traumatized by a thought of another of her children being in a mortal danger. But Percy calmly refused it and told them what he learned about Draco Malfoy instead. According to him, Malfoy was working for the Order now which was just another surprise for Harry. He never expected a cowardly brat like Malfoy to have the guts to fight against Negura. Everyone naturally wanted to know why Draco decided to play this dangerous game and when Percy told them of his truly altruistic reasons, Harry had to admit that if there was one good thing about Negura's reign, then it was Malfoy slowly becoming the noble man he should be.

The bad news were that the Leader was multiplying his forces. He was regrouping his vampires and had sent a small squad abroad to carry out some mission for him. Though Negura still pretended that those vampires were in fact deserters from Voldemort's army, Harry was sure that the number of people who believed in this had dramatically decreased.

Other than that, Harry realized he had problems on keeping his attention focused. He was too preoccupied by the thoughts of this evening. So when Ron later voiced his desire to see the fireworks display and that he would love to have one for his birthday too, he nearly ignored it.

And then he nearly fell of his chair. That moment he realized that he absolutely forgot about Voldemort's birthday. First, he quickly considered whether it would be a proper thing to do to give the Dark Lord some present. When the answer was a definite yes, he almost started panicking because he had absolutely no idea what it should be. He couldn't buy him anything made by Muggles – Voldemort would probably kill him for that. Concerning presents commonly given among wizards and witches, he doubted that Voldemort would want something like that. He would probably appreciate some books or some rare, valuable artifacts, but what exactly that could be, Harry had no idea.

Then he realized that the Dark Lord would be happiest, if he had brought him some young, talented pure-blood wizard ready to join his troops. Harry could only laugh bitterly at that thought. He lacked any realistic tips on how to please him, which only showed how little he knew about Voldemort's secret wishes.

A soft knock on the door, which he instantly recognized, announced Hermione's arrival.

"Come in," he said and she entered, carrying a smoking beverage in her hands.

"Here you go," she said and placed the small cup into his palm.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"Your excuse to _stay in bed_," she replied. "It will simulate an allergic reaction to the medicine Molly's been giving you for the past three days. I hate to do this Harry, but if you really think you have to go… if you think that only that can make you happy..."

She sighed and shook her head.

"Just drink that and tell Molly you're too tired and you want to go sleep. The rash you'll get after this will be gone within fifteen minutes. Oh, and you will also need this. It's an alder wand, nine inches. Nothing spectacular, but still a good piece of Ollivander's work," she said and pulled out a short wand from her pocket.

Harry chuckled and nodded vigorously.

"Yeah, you're right. I will probably need this. Thank you so much, Hermione."

He looked at her, seeing strong disagreement in her eyes.

"Don't worry about me," he said lightly.

"I shouldn't worry?-!" she sputtered. "Harry, how could I not worry about you?-! So don't you _dare_ not coming back! If anything happens to you, I'm sure Ron would find a way to bring you back so he could kill you himself and I'll let him do that, do you understand?-!"

Harry took a step back seeing the wild flames in her eyes.

"Okay," he gulped.

"Fine," she snapped and strode back to the door where she stopped and took a deep breath.

"Just be careful," she added then, her voice much softer.

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he said.

"I will. Er... By the way, it's his birthday today and I have no idea what should I give him. I wondered … if you could have some idea...?"

Hermione raised her chin and turned back to him.

"The more you miss something the bigger is the pleasure when you finally receive it. What do you think that he misses the most?"

His soul, Harry thought that instant but that was something he couldn't give him back. There was however something else he could. It struck him like a lightening. It would be crazy, audacious and risky which would make it the best present possible, because Voldemort could never forget who gave it to him

Harry visibly unbent and sent her one of his warmest smiles.

"Thank you, Hermione. You've helped me more than you think."

"You can repay me, Harry. Don't make me regret this," she said quietly and then left Harry alone to his thoughts.

xxxxx

Though Harry started to think that the moment would never come, it was suddenly there and he had to be leaving the Burrow. He stopped his practice with his new wand for those few spell he tested didn't come out the very well. Deciding to improve in this later he drank the potion and went to present the ugly rash on his face to the Order. Once he convinced them of his sickness and repeatedly explained Molly that he didn't need her help, he returned to his little bedroom and sneaked out of its window. He felt bad about deceiving them like that and he wouldn't lower himself to this approach if it wasn't necessary. But he had to discover what really Voldemort thought and felt about him.

He breathed in the chilly air of the night and set out on his mission to find the Dark Lord and confront him. Harry went far enough to be sure he passed all the protective charms and then he turned back and looked at the house in the distance. With one last glance he recalled the name of the street which he had read on the parchment and turned on the spot.

Once his surroundings materialized around him, Harry quickly checked if he was alone. He stood at the end of the wide road illuminated by orange streetlights. The sounds of TV, loud music and a distant laughter told him that the Muggles were enjoying their celebrations of the end of millenium.

Harry's attention turned back to his search for someone who could catch a sight of him Apparating, but aside from several people in the distance, Harry didn't see anyone. He shuddered a bit when a cold breeze blew down the street, seizing and carrying away several dead leaves from the old trees towering above the low-rise habitations.

"Come on," Harry encouraged himself and approached the closest house, reading its number on the entrance door.

"Sixty-five," he said quietly. If he was on the correct street, seventy-two couldn't be very far. He went down to check the next house and when he found a sign with sixty-three, he sighed and turned back towards the dark end of the road. The blackness beyond the last lamp seemed so impenetrable that he nearly wished he didn't have to go there.

The asphalt road ended approximately fifty feet behind that lamp, replaced by a cobble-stoned footpath. Sixty feet later it suddenly took a sharp turning right, leading uphill into a dark forest.

Harry lit up the wand and continued in his ascent, his senses sharpening with every step together with the nasty feeling in his stomach. He knew that this was just a result of his irrelevant distress and tried to suppress it the best he could. After a minute filled with gazing into dark bushes, he noticed an old building to his right. When he came closer, he realized that it was only a scrubby and desolate ruin. With a great difficulties he read the number on a rusty gate.

_70, Abbey Road. _

He was nearly there then. His heartbeat quickened in his chest and he had to take several deep breaths before he resumed his slow pace. The cobbles were becoming more and more slippery as the mild frost continued to cover them with a thin crust of an ice. He had to walk very carefully if he wanted to avoid a very unpleasant fall.

It was completely silent around him. The growing uneasiness bound his stomach into a tight knot and he seriously started to wonder whether he had made the right choice. It wasn't the darkness and shadows that made him so nervous. It was the feeling that someone was watching him.

He breathed in loudly and nearly missed the soft snap of a twig somewhere behind him. He turned around that instant, searching for the source, but he couldn't see anything beside weirdly deformed dark trees. His instincts told him that he was in a danger, though he still couldn't see it. He had to admit that he was afraid, however his fear was much different than the one he felt the night he went to die for his friends. That time he was prepared for the inevitable, he was reconciled with his fate. Now he realized that the fear of unknown was just as bad, if not worse.

Another snap and then quiet steps.

Harry raised his shining wand higher, still not seeing anyone.

"Who's there?" he asked in a resolute voice.

No one answered.

And then a hooded figure slowly appeared before him in a weak moonlight coming down through the maze of branches above them.

Harry's heart stuttered madly in his chest. For the briefest moment he thought it was Voldemort, but soon he realized that this person was not that tall by far.

Could it be some of his Death Eaters then? Did the Dark Lord bother to inform them that he might be coming or was he supposed to expect an attack? And what if it wasn't a Death Eater? What if it was a vampire and he fell into a trap?-!

Before he could organize the wild swirl of questions in his head, the hooded person spoke in a pleasant voice.

"You are Harry Potter, aren't you? For some time now I've been hoping to meet you. I wanted to see the face of the boy, who won Voldemort's favour over our exceptional Leader."

There was an awful pause after which the man added.

"I must say I'm a bit disappointed by your ordinariness though. Voldemort's a mortal too but he's at least powerful and _tasty_."

Harry felt how his insides constricted. So this was a vampire after all. His hand became sweaty, but his voice didn't waver.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, what happened to my manners? I've forgotten to introduce myself! I am Nestor Desalmado. Many years ago I also used to be just as famous as you are, though probably not that popular. That was before I learned that there are much better things than fame."

He pulled down his hood, and his grey eyes met Harry's green ones. Harry also caught glimpse of his features and realized that this man, this vampire, could be considered quite attractive if he wasn't surrounded by that entirely repulsive loom of death.

"Our Leader expected that you would come here," Nestor spoke softly and adjusted the hem of his luxury shirt on his neck. "He wants to give you and your little friends one last chance. Help us to defeat Voldemort and the vampires will leave this country for good. You could finally live in peace then. But if you continue to fight us, you will be destroyed among the Dark Lord."

"Live in peace you say," Harry snarled through his teeth. "Tell these fables to Dennis."

"Who is Dennis?" Desalmado leaned his head aside, curious.

"My friend," Harry sputtered. "He was murdered by some of your comrades or maybe by you in person."

"Then he was an ineluctable sacrifice," the vampire answered casually.

"So," Harry hissed, "if you'll be another ineluctable sacrifice, it will be all right then? Negura and I can still be friends? That's what you're trying to say?"

An icy smirk appeared on Desalmado's bluish lips.

"I'll take it that your answer is a no."

"For someone with a dead brain you're surprisingly bright," Harry sneered.

"You don't know who you're facing, Potter. You cannot win. It would be pitifully simple to kill you right now."

The pleasant voice didn't waver for a moment though Desalmado's voice regained a distinct cold subtone.

Harry's mad heartbeat resonated in his ears, but he didn't show his fear.

"Show me then!" he retorted and raised the wand.

Within a split second Harry was on the ground, furiously biting into his lips to stifle cries of pain. His right wrist was turned towards him in an unnatural angle and Desalmado stood above him, playing with his wand.

"You really thought you could beat a vampire in the night, particularly with your blind human eyes? How incredibly naïve boy you are. Haven't you really noticed your mistake? All of you, inexpert young wizards, always count too much on your magic and never protect the most important instrument of it, which is your hand."

He threw the wand back to Harry and said.

"Now its your turn to show me what kind of spell you can do with a broken wrist."

Harry grasped the wand into his other hand, turned on his back and exclaimed.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

He cast that curse in a general direction of that amused voice – and missed the aim, which made the vampire chuckle aloud.

"Pity I was asked not to interfere. I would have so much fun with you. See you soon, young Potter. And tell Voldemort that we've been watching him."

And the next moment he was gone as if he was just a figment of Harry's imagination.

Harry heaved himself to his feet, looking about for any further danger, but the forest was quiet and lonesome.

He gritted his teeth to stifle another grunt of pain. He was practically helpless in this state. Which also meant that he would have serious trouble with Apparation if he couldn't use a wand properly. He would probably end up splinched if he tried to return to the Burrrow now. Seeing that he had no other choice, he resumed his search for the place where he was supposed to meet Lord Voldemort several minutes ago.

And surprisingly, he succeeded.

The house was nothing he imagined to be. It was just another ruin of a historical building, probably a monastery which was once rebuilt into a household. Harry could only guess when and why it was abandoned. The eastern part of the building which towered to the sky was relatively conserved, but the western side was severely demolished and the roof threatened to collapse at some places. The facade was mostly gone, preserved only at the places where the spreading ivy didn't let it fall off. Windows were either boarded or the glass was missing completely, leaving empty dark gapes into the depths of the house.

That was all what he could see in that poor light. Being more heedful than ever, Harry checked the surroundings again and then he reached for the handle of the old gate. Oddly, it opened smoothly without a single creak of a rusty iron. Feeling slightly unnerved, Harry took another deep breath and stepped in a small, bushy garden. The bitter, icy smell of water and decaying foliage overwhelmed him for a moment. Harry fought the increasing tension and quickly crossed the short, grass-grown pavement and stopped before a massive, dull-painted door.

He still wasn't sure if he was stood in front of the right house.

Funnily, just as he thought of it, the number 72 appeared right above the huge knocker embroidered into a shape of a serpent. Apparently, Harry didn't have to doubt it anymore. He gulped idly and seized the bronze snake.

The moment he did so the serpent revived and quickly circled its metal body around Harry's left hand. It took all Harry's self-control not to yelp in surprise.

"_**Who are you?"**_ the bronze creature hissed, its little red eyes blazing.

Harry didn't even think of lying as he replied truthfully.

"_**Harry Potter."**_

The snake let him go immediately and the huge door begrudgingly moved to reveal a narrow slot which Harry used to squeeze himself inside.

And he gasped in surprise.

Compared to its murky exterior, the entrance hall of this building looked magnificent. The parquets on the floor were glossy and polished, the long green rugs were dustless and spotless, there wasn't a single cobweb on the crystalline chandelier above his head, the furniture was simple, but clean as well. Though flames roared in the fireplace, there was no one taking care of it; the hall was empty.

"Hello?" Harry asked quietly, but no one answered him.

Harry glanced at a wide staircase leading to the first floor. Considering it a good place to start his exploration, he climbed it until he heard a quiet voice. He stopped dead in his track and tried to listen. When even holding his breath didn't help him to distinguish the words, he ascended few more steps and attempted to take a look behind a robust pillar at the end of the staircase.

The voices became much more clear and pronounced. Harry, driven by his curiosity, moved another two steps upward until he could finally peep at the scene which took place before him.

"How many?" said a high cold voice all of a sudden.

Though Harry didn't recognize the man who spoke before, he knew perfectly well who said those two words.

His heart, which was tortured by so many insecurities of his decision, finally came alive. It reacted wildly to the simple sound of his voice...

Harry leaned forward a bit more so he could see the whole room.

He could see a long table standing beneath the windows covered by heavy black curtains. Harry tried to count the people sitting around it – there had to be more than twenty. All of them were very quiet, pretending they weren't even there.

Harry was confused. Did Voldemort invite him to join a secret meeting with his Death Eaters? Honestly, he sort of hoped for a more private rendezvous. Also, why was he living under that false conviction that most of Voldemort's servants died during that fire of his previous hideout?

His eyes unconsciously located the fireplace and as expected, Harry finally found him standing there, bemused, facing the fire. Once again Harry's heart started pounding fiercely. He couldn't see much of him, but from his tense posture, he guessed that Voldemort was very angry. Harry forced himself to look at the man kneeling by his side, explaining something in a pleading voice.

"Which means you've practically brought them to this mansion," Voldemort said quietly and still Harry could hear his chilling voice very clearly. He turned to the man on his knees and raised the wand.

"My Lord, please, I swear I tried to stop them. Please, I beg you, Master. Don't punish me!"

Voldemort paid it no heed.

_"Crucio!"_

The man on the floor let out a scream of pain, attempted to stand but fell back, writhing. Harry felt like doing the same. He dropped to his knees and had to bit into his lip due to a stab of pain which ran through his injured hand. Hearing the desperate cries of that man sickened him to no point and it unleashed his boiling anger.

Just as Harry was about to jump from behind the pillar, Voldemort raised the wand and said in a cruel voice.

"You've given out this secret location, Jugson. You've endangered us all."

The man screamed again as another curse hit him and it took considerably longer before Voldemort lifted it and spoke again.

"Someone very important was supposed to come to visit me tonight. If this person is dead, you shall taste my true wrath!"

Harry's breath froze in his throat. Was it possible that Voldemort was talking about him right now?

"My Lord … please ...please, forgive me..."

"But Lord Voldemort is not forgiving," came a cold reply and the man cried out in pain again.

Harry couldn't stand it anymore.

Picking up his resolve, he squeezed his alder wand in his healthy left hand and threw himself around the pillar.

"That's enough!" he said it as loudly as he could - and the time seemed to stop for a fraction of a second.

Though Harry felt dozens of shocked gazes on himself, the only person who mattered to him was Voldemort. It was as if they were absolutely alone.

Voldemort had frozen for a moment but then his red eyes fastened upon him. Nothing moved beside the flames in the fireplace. No one was even breathing.

For a one crazy moment Harry found this situation horribly familiar. He nearly expected Voldemort to raise the wand he was holding and cast a Killing Curse at him.

It didn't happen. They still regarded each other in that frozen silence and then, finally, the slightest smile appeared on Voldemort's seemingly lipless mouth.

That was a direct hit below the belt. Harry's mouth dried and he wondered how long he would survive if he just threw himself at Voldemort and began tearing his robes off. Well, he could probably last a couple of seconds...

"You've come after all," Voldemort said softly and Harry forced himself to regain his wavering self-control.

"Yes," he nodded resolutely. "We have a lot to talk about."

_**R&R**_


	9. The night of adventures, part 1

**Author's note: **I know I am repeating myself over and over and boring you to tears with every author's note always saying the same, but it's important for me to express my thanks to everyone who let me know his/her verdict on this story (or the chapter). This particularly applies to the readers who sent me an unsigned review and I couldn't thank them via review reply.

Specials thanks to: **TheSecretUchiha** for proofreading and her valuable opinions

Rating of this chapter: **T**

**The**** night of adventures, part I**

xxxxx

_72 Abbey Road, Axminster_

_31__st_ _December 2000, 23:18_

The huge, dark, magnificent room was no longer silent. The commotion by the long, ebony table increased with every moment until it finally diverted Harry's attention from the Dark Lord. Murmurs and snarls gained in strength as several Death Eaters rose to their feet and pulled out their wands. Most of them were watching Harry with utter malice, few were trying to hide their faces and a couple of those who were standing looked expectantly at Voldemort – probably waiting for their master to slay his greatest enemy.

Harry felt chills running up and down his spine. His survival solely depended on Voldemort's next words and yet the Dark Lord didn't speak so far. He was still standing in the same spot, his expression perfectly neutral and only his eyes moved as he studied Harry from head to toe.

Someone's voice finally broke the tension.

"My Lord!"

It was Dolohov. He joined the standing group and briskly pointed his wand at Harry. His face was awfully scarred by burns, which could either be a memory of the Battle of Hogwarts or the more recent incident with Negura. Nevertheless, none of his injuries apparently mollified his desire to kill.

Harry clutched the alder wand tighter, but didn't copy Dolohov's aggressive pose, as he saw Voldemort raise his hand in the same moment as the Death Eater's wand slashed the air. Harry, driven by his instincts, cast a Shielding Charm, which, considering that he had to use his left hand and an unfamiliar wand, didn't turn out very well. Fortunately, it was an unnecessary action, because Voldemort didn't allow his servant to hurt him. The yew wand merely twitched in the Dark Lord's hand and yet the effect was enormous. Harry heard a loud bang which was immediately followed by a shriek of pain and Dolohov dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest. His breath was wheezy and his head was bowed in the deepest apology.

Voldemort's eyes didn't even flicker at him as he spoke.

"Haven't I instructed you not to attack Potter or anyone from the Order without my direct command?"

"Yes … yes, my Lord," Dolohov gasped. "But I thought, my Lord, that..."

"Silence!" the Voldemort snapped and Dolohov stopped his complaint that instant. In the sudden quiet, he turned his face towards his Death Eaters.

"Harry Potter didn't breach any of my protective enchantments," he said. "His magical abilities are way too poor to even consider he could manage something like that. No, he came here because I invited him. Though, I confess my doubts that he would appear..."

As he was speaking, he left the heat of the fireplace and slowly approached Harry, rolling his wand between his long fingers as he went.

Harry's muscles relaxed once he recognized he was past the imminent danger. Now that Voldemort was leisurely coming closer, he briefly allowed himself to indulge in his unbecoming fantasies. He took in the view of the tall, slender body concealed in the nicely fitting black robes. However, what fascinated him even more than that complimentary cut was a tiny, silver chainlet adorning his slim waist. Its loose ends were swaying around his hips with every step he took, giving the Dark Lord's gait formerly unknown sensuality. There was only one thought which made Harry's heartbeat speed up even more than a vision of himself unfastening its clasp and that was a presumption that Voldemort was wearing it because of him. That he wanted to appeal to him.

Harry licked his lips nervously and tried to pacify his desires which stirred close beneath his surface thoughts. It was a difficult task, for he was absolutely sure that he couldn't possibly meet a more gorgeous, awesomely threatening and threateningly awesome man than this one.

Meanwhile, Voldemort halted before him and Harry forced himself to look up from his waist to his face. It was probably fortunate to do so, even though the Dark Lord didn't meet his eyes right away. He was taking in his broken wrist, which reminded Harry of the pain in his immobile limb. It wasn't too hard to suppress the ache since he could directly compare the discomfort he felt with much worse suffering which was still fresh in his mind.

"I see you've encountered Nestor Desalmado," Voldemort said evenly, giving Harry the information that he was quite familiar with the nasty quirks of the freak which was currently prowling outside the protective enchantments of this building.

"Evidently," Harry nodded. "Talking about him, I was quite taken aback to meet a vampire at the gate to your secret basement – or whatever this place is."

Voldemort's lips curved into a bitter sneer.

"This is a highly unpleasant development, indeed. I trust you already know who's at fault for this," the Dark Lord whispered and his scary eyes briefly located Jugson crouching at the farthest corner of the table. Then he turned back to Harry. "One little mistake is all Negura needs. Luckily," he added, "no vampire can cross the gate of this house without _my _permission."

He took a step back and his cat-like eyes narrowed a little bit.

"I do have to wonder though, why Desalmado let you live. It appears that the bloodsucking freak must have been ordered to stay away which implies that Negura changed his plans about you."

Harry felt how his hair raised at the back of his neck at the meaning in those words.

"I suppose that the vampire changing his plans about me is bad thing," he said a bit constrainedly.

The Dark Lord took another step backward.

"No need to doubt that," he agreed and pointed to a vacant chair at the head of the table.

"Take a seat, Harry."

Several Death Eaters turned their head towards them, unused to hear such kind words.

Harry, on the other hand, wasn't entirely thrilled by a thought of sharing a table with the Death Eaters.

"No, thank you," he said without much thinking, causing all Voldemort's servants to turn their heads to him, a mix of astonishment and malignity in their faces. A few of them even chuckled cruelly.

At first, Harry didn't understand why they reacted so strangely before it occurred to him that they've probably never seen anyone refuse Lord Voldemort's request. No one of them wanted to confront the drastic consequences of disobedience. Harry's stomach clenched in trepidation at the thought of it and he quickly glanced at Voldemort to see his reaction.

The Dark Lord was watching him, his eyes gleamed as usual, his mouth firmly sealed, giving him rather dangerous and malevolent expression.

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't afford to be this disrespectful to Voldemort, especially before his followers. If he were to cross that boundary, he'd rather do it for a more relevant reason. So he simply turned away from him, trudged to the chair and heavily plopped down.

"Well, if you insist," he shrugged his shoulders.

It was funny to watch the Death Eaters' reactions. Those who sat closest to him instantly leaned away as if they smelled something repulsive while those who were further away pretended that he didn't even exist. Harry didn't mind this treatment very much. He lived too long by the Dursleys to feel offended by being hated or ignored. On the other hand, he was amused that none of them dared to meet his defiant stare.

"So," Voldemort's high voice resounded in the air, spoiling Harry's little game, "what else has Desalmado told you?"

Harry raised his head and realized that Voldemort stood right behind him, his long fingers stroking the top of his backrest.

"Not much," Harry admitted and quickly looked away before his stupid feelings could start to mess with his thoughts again. "He just said that Negura wants the Order to join him in his _noble_ efforts to eradicate you and the wizarding world. I took the liberty to refuse him. Other than that he only mentioned that Negura's been keeping a close eye on you."

"I should have expected that he wouldn't say more than I already know," the Dark Lord said bemusedly.

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"If we want to stop that beast, I suggest we synchronize our actions. I hope I'm allowed to ask what the plan is: if I don't know anything I can hardly consult my friends in the Order about it..."

"My Lord!"

A young woman, sitting about five feet from Harry on his left side, exclaimed and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"The Order of the Phoenix is a corrupted bunch of Mudbloods and blood traitors who are already fully in the vampire's service. We informed you, my Lord, on the dubious activities of Percy Weasley who is unquestionably a member of the Order!"

"Percy Weasley was under the Imperius Curse! He wasn't responsible for any of his actions!" Harry lashed out at her and she turned directly to him, her face twisted in anger.

And Harry recognized her rounded features, blue eyes and wild dark hair that instant. He was on his feet in a split second, glaring at her over the tip of his wand just as she did the same to him.

"I know you! You're Charis Bletchley! You're an Auror!" he spluttered in rage.

"Said The-Boy-Who-Lived! The Saviour of Wizarding World! Dumbledore's Golden Boy!" she screeched. "But we will show you that none of us...!"

"Charis."

Her eyes nervously flickered towards the Dark Lord who continued in that silky, cold voice.

"Lower your wand."

Her hand started to shake and tears appeared in her eyes.

"My Lord," she begged, but still kept the wand high. "If we let him go, he will give away my identity to Negura. They will kill me..."

"Do you want me to repeat my command?"

Riddle's voice became even silkier, taking on a very dangerous undertone. Charis let out one quiet sob, then shook her head and sat down again.

"No, Master," she stuttered.

Harry, seeing that she slumped down to her seat, lowered his wand as well.

"Harry Potter's credibility is my task to judge, not yours," Voldemort added quietly and turned to Harry. "Charis Bletchley joined me because she was extremely dissatisfied with the current development on the Ministry. That's all you need to know, Potter. Also, you'd better think twice before trying to attack her or any of my Death Eaters. I will not stop them again."

Harry gritted his teeth, his anger still boiling inside him.

"Fine! But how would _you_ react if you saw one of your Death Eaters standing among the members of the Order?" he snapped. "Oh, scratch that. I've forgotten: Snape."

"Charis Bletchley has never been a member of the Order," Voldemort answered coldly and Harry realized that he was balancing on the edge again. He should draw back and stop riling Voldemort up, but he couldn't help and added.

"She is an Auror."

Voldemort didn't answer that immediately and slowly walked down the row of chairs, taking the one at the head of the table, directly opposite to Harry.

"And who exactly are you?" he asked as he seated himself.

His note stirred up quite a few giggles from the Death Eaters.

Harry bit his lip. The fact was that he wasn't an Auror yet, but he was in the training, which made him nearly as much of a criminal as Charis. On the other hand, it was questionable whether it was a crime to fight against monsters like Negura by all means possible .

"Whatever. I won't give her away as long as she will be trying to bring Negura down," he finally said, making the Dark Lord's lips to curve up in that little smile again.

"Good," he said and turned to Charis, waiting for what she was about to say.

"I don't believe him, my Lord. It's Harry Potter. I'm sure he works for the Ministry! He is too famous among the other Aurors, even among those who still cooperate with the vampires!"

The smile disappeared.

Harry noticed how quickly her disapproval faded away from her face once she saw that her comment displeased Voldemort.

"Shall I take it that you impugn my decision to trust Harry Potter?"

Several Death Eaters fidgeted in their seats after hearing those icy words, while she quickly stuttered out.

"No! No, my Lord! I would never … never...!"

"Get up!" Voldemort ordered coldly and Harry felt a very unpleasant feeling running down his spine again. He nearly felt sorry for her and wondered how should he divert Voldemort's attention from whatever he was about to do.

"If you can question Lord Voldemort's decisions, why shouldn't he question your loyalty?"

"My Lord … Master … I didn't … I'm your most devoted...," she sobbed.

"Are you?" Voldemort whispered in a tone of that made several Death Eaters sit back as if giving the Dark Lord more room to curse her.

"I shall test your devotion then."

"I'll do … I'll do anything, my Lord!" she squeaked as her voice faltered in hope.

Voldemort's searing eyes finally left her to bore into Harry's.

"Very good. I want you to heal Harry Potter's hand then."

Harry felt his chin drop almost on his chest and he wasn't the only one by far. The same facial problem affected most of the Death Eaters, including Charis. Luckily for her, she recuperated fast enough.

"Yes, Master," she whispered, bowed to him and turned to Harry.

Meanwhile, Harry realized that he was becoming seriously concerned about what was going to happen. Having his hand 'healed' by Lockhart was an unpleasant experience, but what damage could a Death Eater, who so obviously disliked him, do? He didn't even want to think about it.

"Look, this is really not necessary," he began as she halted beside him. She didn't even look at him as she pointed her wand directly at his broken wrist.

"_Brachium Emendo!"_

There was a brief pain, but before Harry could do so much as yelp, it was gone and his hand looked normal again. Harry experimentally tried to move his fingers and rotate his wrist and was amazed to see that it worked without any pain. He looked up and was about to thank her, but she was already hurrying away from him, receiving sniggers from her comrades.

If he weren't in a company of the Death Eaters, Harry would probably feel aggrieved. This way, he could only furrow his eyebrows.

"Rowle," the Dark Lord's voice broke into his thoughts as he spoke to the man whose jeers were the loudest. "What exactly amused you so much?"

The laughter died at once.

"Did you think that I asked Charis to heal Potter to humiliate her?"

The Death Eater who Voldemort addressed was obviously too scared to even look at him.

"Yes, Master," he whispered throatily.

"I see. Then let's make it clear that you were greatly mistaken. You shall know that Harry Potter has helped me a great deal – actually much more than anyone of you have during many years of your service. He was willing to make the greatest sacrifice for me without any repayment. Can anyone of you say the same?"

The silence was deafening. Harry quickly looked over the Death Eaters who were trying to hide before Voldemort's growing wrath.

"What about you, Mulciber? I trust you were the one who stood guard the night Negura came to burn out our London's hideout. I wonder, why didn't you come out and assist me fighting that freak when you saw how weakened I was after the previous duel? Or did you think that Harry Potter was there to take good care of your Master?"

Mulciber shook his head and turned to Voldemort, struggling to form words.

"My Lord … I ..."

He couldn't finish the sentence for his fear apparently closed his throat.

"I answer myself then," Voldemort whispered coldly. "You weren't even aware of my presence in your desperate rush to escape the flames and save your own pitiful existence. And that's what you call a devoted service?"

The Dark Lord slowly rose to his full, menacing height, making the Death Eaters tremble. Even Harry had to admit that he didn't feel at ease, though Voldemort's rage wasn't directed at him.

"You have greatly disappointed me again."

"My Lord! My Lord, we all beg you for forgiveness...," Rowle began but the glare he received silenced him more effectively than any spell could.

"I do not wish to listen to any of your lame apologies, Rowle!" the Dark Lord hissed venomously.

Harry saw how his lips curled up in detestation as he considered cursing the man, but then he met Harry's eyes and his face lost some of its malevolence. He looked down at his distraught servants and said disgustedly.

"We will discuss this matter later. You're dismissed."

Once the words left his mouth, all the Death Eaters rushed out of their seats to kneel before him and kiss his robes. No one wanted to be the last, exposed to a potential risk of being punished.

They were gone within a minute, leaving Harry and Voldemort alone in a nerve-wracking silence. Harry was painfully aware how correct Hermione was when she noted that Riddle was powerful and immensely dangerous again. Here, in this huge, dark, quiet room, the sensation became even more overwhelming.

The Dark Lord suddenly moved from the place where he stood, coming closer to him. His bright, crimson eyes glimmered like embers in the fire, making Harry look down at his own hands which were clutching the edge of the table. There was no denying that he was nervous. Things were too complicated between them and he didn't know how to ease that tension or make it better, because Voldemort's behaviour, which was apparently back to normal, troubled him a great deal.

The Dark Lord was already by his side, he could see him out of the corner of an eye.

Harry's heart pounded so forcefully that it made his whole head throb.

"I believe you wanted to talk to me," Voldemort spoke to him softly. It was a relief to hear him speak in a voice which was completely different from the tonehe used to talk to his servants.

"Yeah," Harry nodded and cleared his throat. "I did, but seeing how busy you were with your followers, I've decided to leave it as it is..."

The cold fingers touched his chin and raised it up and to Harry's great surprise he saw the Dark Lord's face just a couple of inches above his.

Harry, completely unprepared for this, recoiled just before Voldemort's lips descended to his.

Their eyes briefly met and Riddle took a sharp step backward as he got a glimpse of a shock in Harry's thoughts.

He looked aside then, the muscles on his jaw tightening.

"I was under the conviction," he finally said in a tone which lost a great part of its pleasant quality, "that you came here because you understood the reasons why I used the Cruciatus Curse on you."

"I know why you did it," Harry rushed to explain, deeply regretting his previous instinctual reaction. "It's just still too hard to forget … that pain."

Voldemort didn't look at him, only clenched his teeth tighter.

"I see," he hissed icily. "Why don't you plainly say that we are through, Potter! Or are you afraid of my reaction all of a sudden?"

Harry nearly fell off the chair in shock.

"What?-!" he gasped and once he caught his balance, he scrambled on his feet. "No! Of course that we_aren't _through! Damn it, why would I bother to come here, if it weren't for you?-!"

Voldemort's reaction to his outburst was minimal. More seconds passed before he finally turned his head to Harry again.

"So you say," he spoke, his voice still detached and unconvinced.

"So I _feel_!" Harry shouted indignantly and crossed the small distance between them in one long stride. He threw his arms around Voldemort's back and pressed his left temple firmly against the little hollow between Riddle's pronounced clavicles, taking in his scent with a deep breath.

"Come on, Tom. I might have been angered at you but nothing can change the fact that I missed you very much," he whispered and tightened his embrace. "I don't care what happened between us in the past. It cannot change what I feel. So, please, trust me when I say that my previous reaction was purely out of surprise. It wasn't a rejection!"

Voldemort stayed unresponsive for several long moments. But then Harry suddenly felt a soft touch on the back of his neck. The cold, thin digits slowly combed his disobedient hair and stayed entangled in his mane, moving back and forth, rubbing circles in his skin. And Harry was bathing in relief for this was probably the best response he could hope for. It told him better than words that he was being trusted and desired. That Lord Voldemort wasn't blind to these feelings though he could perfectly easily pretend otherwise.

Soon Harry stopped fighting the urge to kiss him, hoisted himself up on his tiptoes and sealed their lips together. As their mouth touched, something suspiciously alike to happiness sparked in those sanguine eyes before they hid behind the snowy eyelids. The Dark Lord followed the movement of Harry's lips, enthralled by the gentle caresses he was given. Harry perceived his bare enthusiasm as showing how new it was for him to find so much happiness in such simplicity. It was surprisingly fulfilling to know that he could make him feel that way. They stayed like that for some time, memorizing every detail of that sensation. Harry kept his eyes closed too and didn't open them even when they parted. He wanted to enjoy the lingering feeling as long as he possibly could.

The Dark Lord's lips lightly grazed his a few more times as if he couldn't get enough of how Harry made him feel.

"I was thinking of Negura when I used that curse," he said softly against Harry's skin then. "I've never needed a replacement before."

Harry, after hearing those words, looked up at him gave him one of his most charming smiles. For the first time he could remember the Dark Lord didn't speak like someone with a crippled soul. There was only one thing he wanted to say to that.

"Thank you," he whispered.

They kissed again, only more passionately. Voldemort's laboured breath and warmed lips then traced Harry's jaw line from the corner of his mouth to a little hollow under his ear and back, while Harry's hands wandered along his spine and seized the silver chainlet around his waist. He played with it and let his fingers slide beneath it, imagining that he was touching his skin, not clothes.

"It's time, Harry," the Dark Lord somehow reluctantly whispered against his smoothly shaven skin, making Harry's body jolt into awareness at his suggestive tone. He was just about to voice his keen assent, when Voldemort added.

"It would be unfortunate if we arrived too late."

Harry halted in the mid-breath and looked the Dark Lord in the eyes.

"Late for what? What are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

"To meet someone who holds a memory which can help us disclose the true source of Negura's immortality. I want to test Dumbledore's strategy, which had proven to work so successfully against me. In my assumption, Negura is also blindly convinced of his own invincibility, which inevitably causes him to make mistakes..."

After hearing that, Harry's excitement dropped to a zero level. Normally, he would be very excited about who that person was and how his or her memory could help them defeat the vampire. He would be amazed and maybe concerned about how well Voldemort learned his lesson. But tonight was different. He certainly didn't want to stop feeling what he felt right now in order to go chasing some shadows of Negura's past.

"That's great," he grunted sulkily. He didn't expect that the Dark Lord would find his reaction greatly entertaining.

"What's wrong, Harry?" he asked once he stopped cackling. "Shall I take it that you are disappointed? Isn't this task dangerous enough to your liking? Or aren't you concerned about Negura's plans anymore? Did you really come here just to see me?"

"No," Harry shook his head, watching Riddle's amusement slowly fade away. "I wanted - and still want - far more than just to see you."

A slight dilatation in those cat-like pupils told Harry that Voldemort got the message instantly. He straightened his back and his face became unreadable like a mask. But then he slowly raised his left hand and sneaked it into the heat beneath Harry's jumper. His chilly fingers wormed their way upwards through the folds of Harry's shirt, feeling the slight bumps of his muscles from the belly to the chest and back.

Harry could swear that his blood was boiling, especially when Voldemort slowly licked his thin lips and leaned closer to whisper to his ear.

"If the mission is successful, I believe we can have … a little celebration afterwards."

Then he removed his hand and Harry's brain could start to work again.

"Talking about celebrations, one of them is a bit overdue, isn't it?"

When he got no a response, Harry continued.

"It's your birthday today, right?"

Again, no answer.

"You know, I have a present for you."

"A present?" Voldemort asked, intrigued. He strongly reminded Harry himself in his first year in Hogwarts. The same suspicious disbelief shone in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"Yeah," Harry said and checked the back pocket of his jeans to make sure he hadn't lost its content. Voldemort automatically extended his hand as he expected that Harry would give it to him right away. He was greatly disappointed when Harry didn't.

"I'll give it to you later tonight, okay?" he muttered. He wouldn't make such a fuss about it if he didn't have a very good reason for it. It may no longer matter to him what happened between them in the past, but he wasn't certain if the Dark Lord felt the same. He would know everything from Voldemort's reaction. If the Dark Lord still held a grudge, Harry wanted to keep a chance of escape which would be a serious problem within these walls. He was trying to make different plans but before he could finish his contemplation, his thoughts were invaded by a sight of the yew wand and an intense red glare.

"I'm just waiting for the best moment possible," he quickly amended his explanation which probably saved him from a couple of unpleasant hexes.

"And that moment is not now?"

"No, not yet. Sorry."

"I could take it by force," Voldemort voiced his displeasure, but lowered the wand and hid it back into his sleeve.

"I don't doubt that. The question is, do you want to?"

The Dark Lord didn't answer that and turned away from him.

"I'd better be worth the wait," he said instead and conjured two heavy black cloaks out of thin air, giving the shorter one to Harry.

"Okay, so who are we going to meet?" Harry asked as he dressed himself, trying to change the course of Voldemort's thoughts and apparently succeeding.

"Her name is Armynel LeRoy," the Dark Lord hissed as he fastened his cloak and Harry noticed a fierce disgust in his voice. Whoever was that woman, Voldemort couldn't stand her and Harry wanted to know why.

"LeRoy," Harry whispered, finding the name somehow familiar, only he couldn't recall when and where he heard it before. "What does she have to do with Negura?" he asked as he followed Voldemort downstairs.

"She's a widow after Gaston LeRoy," the Dark Lord said as if it explained everything.

"You didn't kill that guy, did you?" Harry asked, immediately becoming worried.

Voldemort glanced at him over his shoulder, his red glare literally stabbing Harry's head.

"How is it even possible that you don't know who Gaston LeRoy is?"

Right, so Harry was correct when he found that name familiar. But that was all, he couldn't remember more.

"I've heard about him before, I think," he finally admitted his defeat.

Voldemort stopped on the last step, fully turning to him.

"Are you sure you want to be an Auror? Even though you have no idea who Gaston the Grand is?" he mocked him.

It was the moment when the memory popped up in Harry's head.

"He was a dark lord, wasn't he? In France, I think. It was in that horrible, foot thick book which I used as my study material for the history exam."

"He was murdered when I was still in school, so the answer to your question is no, I didn't kill him. Though, if Negura didn't turn him into a vampire, I would have eventually dueled him for sure."

"Why?" Harry asked. "What had he done to you?"

Voldemort hesitated with the answer, but only very briefly.

"He was a Mudblood, Potter, who found pleasure in killing pure-blooded wizards and witches."

"What?-!"

"Surprised, Harry?" Voldemort sneered. "Or have you thought that everyone with dirty blood is a saint?"

"No … it's not that. I just find it … unusual," Harry muttered.

"It is unusual," Voldemort admitted as he led Harry into a long narrow corridor. "There are only two known cases of Muggleborn dark wizards. The first one was Alcander and the second Gaston."

"Hang on," Harry quickly said. "Wasn't Alcander the one who was so heroically defeated by young Negura?"

"Exactly. Both of them died by Negura's hand – or teeth."

"So there is some connection," Harry concluded.

Voldemort stopped his pace and turned to him.

"Negura had a choice at that time. He could either pick Grindelwald, or LeRoy. He decided for the Mudblood which I find rather absurd, since Grindelwald was naturally at least twice as powerful and dangerous. But his choice doesn't matter as much as its result. Negura was careless because LeRoy's wife witnessed her husband's death – or that's what she proclaims at least."

"This is insane," Harry muttered for himself. "A muggle-born dark lord who was married..."

"To another Muggle-born," Voldemort finished. "What an ultimate abomination."

"No, it's not!" Harry protested. "Abominable is a vision of a happily married couple on a killing rampage!"

Voldemort snorted again. "According to my source, she wasn't that much into killing. But she tolerated her husband's excesses."

"Awesome lady," Harry remarked ironically. "So you want to see a memory of Negura killing Gaston. I still fail to see how that can help us with anything aside making you feel better."

The Dark Lord didn't find Harry's scornful note amusing.

"When the victim of a vampire's bite dies," he began, "he or she will inevitably lose the memory of their last moments. I dare to assume that Negura uses that time to tell every dark lord why exactly he defeated them as he did in my case. I can tell he was certain I would forget everything right away. He didn't expect my survival just as he didn't expect anyone to hear what he told to Gaston. I need that memory, Harry. I'm sure that it holds a key to Negura's secret and Negura knows it too. That's why he recently send another large pack of vampires to find that woman and finally kill her. Also, you should know that two Death Eaters gave their lives for this information. You'd better stop taking this so lightly!"

Harry realized that he was staring at him agape and forced himself to close his mouth.

"In that case," he said quietly then, "what the hell are we waiting for?"

Voldemort didn't answer that, but significantly prolonged his step, making Harry trot behind him in order to keep up. Soon they reached the oldest part of the building. It was very cold there and Harry could see stars blinking at them from the large holes in the roof. He still didn't know where they were going and wondered if he should ask him. He decided to hold back his curiosity to get more weighty answers.

"How did you contact that woman?" he inquired.

"I have my ways," Voldemort replied him shortly and ascended three steps on a round marble platform in the middle of the room. Harry stopped beneath it.

"Don't take me wrongly, I'm really glad that you told me all of that, but why exactly do you want to take me along? Don't you usually do these missions alone?" he asked the question which bothered him most of all.

Voldemort looked down at him and extended his hand.

"It's imperative of you to go with me if I want to obtain that memory. LeRoy told me that she won't give it to anyone but you. She was quite convinced that I cannot achieve your cooperation. If you didn't come tonight, I would still go and try to get that information by force with a high risk of a failure."

Harry slowly climbed on the platform too.

"I understand," he said and looked down at the glossy surface reflecting the poor light coming from outside. Then he raised his chin and took Voldemort's hand into his. The fingers were so chilly against his own that it made him wonder why he still found that sensation so pleasant. The Dark Lord intertwined their fingers, squeezed Harry's palm and with the other hand he conjured a solid rope which firmly attached their forearms together.

"What … what is it?" Harry asked confusedly.

"You wouldn't be able to hold on to me during the Apparition," Voldemort explained and put his wand between his teeth while his left hand pulled out a small golden object from his pocket. It looked like a watch but when Harry took a closer look, he noticed several significant differences. The weirdest were the little planets moving around the edge at the place where numbers should have been.

Harry didn't know what did that mean, but Voldemort was satisfied with the findings. He closed the watch, put it back into his pocket and took the wand into his hand again.

Harry felt like a five year old when he asked again.

"What exactly was that?"

"Powerful magicians can Apparate over large distances, but what usually limits them the most is the orientation. This device can be very helpful for the navigation purpose, when it is used properly. I was lucky to obtain it from Snape who found it in Dumbledore's office."

"It belonged to Dumbledore?"

"Very likely."

"Don't tell me that...!"

"You'd better take a deep breath!" Voldemort snapped at him and closed his eyes as he concentrated his powers.

Harry felt a sudden whiff of wind in his hair as Voldemort raised his wand but he paid it no attention. He was too agitated by the recent discovery that he, instead of breathing, lashed out at him.

"You stole it from Dum-"

He didn't finish the sentence as he was seized by a small tornado and dragged inside its center by their tethered hands. The next second they were gone.

xxxxx

_London, the Ministry of Magic_

_31__st__ December 2000, 23:45 _

Draco was getting better in his role of a non-existent spy. During past several days he discovered that the less attention was focused on him the more safely he could _work_. That's also why he sat in on the window sill in the distant corner of the Leader's workroom, silent, but very attentive. Any information he could give to the Order, which could help them in their fight against that freak, was good. It was deeply satisfying that he was, piece after piece, getting the revenge he dreamed about.

It gave his life a meaning again. He wasn't worthless anymore.

He already discovered the names and brief descriptions of Negura's closest friends and advisers. The Leader actually listened to those vampires and often even acted in accordance to their suggestions. He called them the members of the Council, which Draco considered as the elite of his army. They were clever, nasty and even more dangerous than the others. Draco tried to avoid them most of the time, but if he wanted to get some information, he simply had to take some risk.

Tonight he was abnormally lucky. Negura seemed to be too busy with his paperwork that he didn't pay him any attention. Usually, when he was about to discuss something important with some members of the Council, he asked Draco to leave. This time he didn't say anything. Maybe he had really forgotten about his presence, Draco hoped.

A soft knock on the door announced someone's arrival and once the door opened Draco perked up a little. It was Desalmado whose bored expression was instantly replaced by enthusiasm at the sight of Negura. It was so sickening that Draco turned to the second newcomer.

He couldn't see into his face for he was wearing a hood deep in his face, just like Negura did whenever he talked in public. He was carrying a small black box, which he placed on the table before Negura and took several steps back.

The Leader looked at it carefully and then turned to Nestor and spoke to him in Romanian, completely spoiling all Draco's hopes to learn something new. He barely suppressed a frustrated groan when he heard Potter's name. The fact that they discussed him and that he didn't understand a word of it was maddening. The only positive development was that Negura didn't look satisfied with what he learned.

Then the Leader turned to the man with cape and finally spoke in English.

"This is what you found in the ruins, Cuthbert?" he asked with a mild interest.

"Yes. It's the only object which resisted the fervour of the Fiendfyre. Whatever is inside, Voldemort doesn't want it to be destroyed."

"Interesting," Negura whispered and took the box into his hands. He tried to open it, but it was securely locked. So he put the box back on the table, pulled out his wand and tested several powerful spells, which failed to even mar the container.

"Very interesting," he muttered again and scratched his chin. Then he glanced to Draco, who quickly looked away.

"Draco, come here," he spoke in his most pleasant tone, his navy blue eyes boring into the young man.

Blood froze in Draco's veins, but he couldn't dare to disobey. He approached the three vampires, stopping several feet away.

"Come closer," Negura ordered and the young wizard took a few more hesitant steps. Now he could see the box better. It appeared to be made of obsidian and the symbols on its ornate surface reminded him of a coiling snake. He gulped nervously and turned his head downwards.

"Have you seen this box before?" Negura asked, curious.

"No, I haven't," Draco whispered, his eyes still glued to the tips of his shoes.

"But you as a Death Eater surely have an idea how Voldemort protects his secrets, don't you?"

"He never told me anything about that, my Leader," Draco said quickly and looked up, only to turn his eyes away as he met the obtrusive gaze.

"I don't believe that, Draco. If you don't know it for sure, I want you to make a guess."

Negura's voice was no longer pleasant. The young Death Eater took a step backward, licking his dry lips.

"He … he is a Parselmouth. He … he can talk to snakes," he said almost inaudibly. "It could be protected by a password in Parseltongue."

"Yes, indeed. I nearly forgot," the Leader once again smiled pleasantly. "You were sorted into Slytherin too, weren't you Draco? Do you have the ability to talk to snakes?"

Draco gulped idly and spoke after a short hesitation. "It's a very rare gift which has never appeared in our family tree. That's why my aunt, Bellatrix, wanted so much to … connect our bloodline with the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin."

"I see," Negura mused, watching Draco intently. "But there is also someone else except of Voldemort who was _gifted _too, right?"

A little drop of sweat ran down along Draco's blond hairline. Of course he knew about someone else, but if he told Negura that name, he would betray his new allies, those who made his life bearable again. He would help the monster who he wanted to destroy more than anything. On the other hand, if he didn't tell him the truth, Negura would eventually find that information in Potter's special documentation and that would make him untrustworthy in the Leader's eyes. Such a development would completely obstruct his role as a spy and he would be useless again.

"It's...," Draco licked his dry lips, fighting with himself. "It's Potter," he finally said.

The name invoked a roar of laughter from Desalmado.

"Incredible," he choked as he wiped his eyes, "And here I thought that the boy is completely useless. What a pity that I didn't bring him along."

"You will be given that chance later," Negura said calmly and smiled at Draco again.

"Very good, my dear godson."

All Draco could do was to fight back a pained sob. He may have done many bad things but he never felt so as dirty as he felt right now.

_**R&R**_


	10. The night of adventures, part 2

**Author's note: **I know I'm a bit late. Sorry for that. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

Many specials thanks to: **TheSecretUchiha** (You all know why, right? :) )

and also to **GreatFruit** for sending me a lovely Fan Art. I wish I could post it with this chapter! Her work and also the new Harry Potter trailer inspired me to posted a new picture on my deviantart account. Check it out, if you want. I think that HP/LV fans will like it, especially when it is so canon. lol

**Special note:** I would also like to thank to **Windforce**, who helped me with the translation of LeRoy/Voldemort's dialogue to French. For those of you who cannot speak French or only a very little (like me), just look at the end of the chapter. :)

Rating of this chapter: **M**

**The night of adventures, part II**

_France, Paris, Trocadéro_

_31__th__ December 2000, 23:51_

Harry opened his eyes and gazed at the sky above in wonder. Unlike usual apparition, which felt like being forced through a narrow rubber tube, this time he experienced the most confusing sensation of being detached from his physical being . As if his mind needed several seconds more to arrive to the destination than his body did.

His breath evened out eventually: the dizziness slowly faded away and he hoisted himself up onto his elbows to take a first look at a small, dimly lit park. From the corner of his eye he saw Voldemort standing a couple of feet from him, checking the golden watch again but Harry's attention was drawn behind him to a vociferous crowd. One would have thought that those people voiced their fear of the Dark Lord, but Harry briskly recognized that they didn't sound afraid.

They were celebrating.

The youngster rose to his feet, whisked off the wet snow from his cloak and turned to look at what those Muggles found so fascinating.

And he was certain right then he won't forget that view, ever.

He knew that place. He'd seen it on the postcards. He'd heard Fleur talking about it, but he never thought that he would ever have a chance to see it with his own eyes.

Maybe he was dreaming, maybe this wasn't real … because in the distance behind a statue of some man on a horse stood one of the most famous structures in the world.

_The Eiffel Tower._

Harry shook his head, rubbed his eyes and looked up again.

The construction didn't disappear. Though he barely saw its upper half, it was still an impressive sight. Without realizing that he was moving, Harry set forward to it over the snowy lawn, his eyes not leaving the shining tower for a second.

He was just by the statue, when Voldemort caught up with him and as his long fingers dug into Harry's shoulder, his trance was broken. He turned to the Dark Lord, incredulous.

"We can't be in Paris," he whispered, certain that Voldemort couldn't hear him over the clamour and loud music.

"What you see isn't proof enough?" the Dark Lord said, watching the cheerful mob with growing detestation.

"I can't believe that," Harry held his own, his eyes returning to the Eiffel tower.

"Magic is might, Harry."

"I know that you're powerful but..."

He was interrupted, because the cheers multiplied, people screaming something what could be possibly a count down for midnight. Harry couldn't believe how lucky he was.

"It's time," Voldemort said, his voice still perfectly clear over that uproar.

"Wait! I … I would really like to see it," Harry said quickly.

"We're supposed to meet LeRoy at midnight and I'm never late," the Dark Lord answered, still watching the mob as if expecting Negura to jump out of it every moment.

"It'll be just a minute."

"Potter..."

"Look, I know that you don't like these people," Harry said and waved his hand towards the crowd, "and that you probably find this whole event meaningless. But for me, it's something very special and exceptional. I've spent most of life fighting someone..." Harry paused. He didn't want to say 'fighting you', but Voldemort got the hint. "And I … I just want to _live_ sometimes too," he quickly finished. "This is a chance I didn't have for years! I've never been to France … dammit, I've never even been abroad!"

Their eyes met and Harry reached out and stroke his pale cheek.

"What's the matter if we are one minute late?"

"You'd better not miss that moment then," Voldemort said enveloping Harry's fingers with his own.

And Harry smiled at him and nodded and turned to watch the most splendid fireworks he'd ever seen, feeling the Dark Lord's gaze on his nape all the time.

When the most spectacular part of the show was over, Harry turned back to him to thank him. Seeing the reflections of colourful flashes in his eyes, Harry stopped doubting that all of that was real, that he was in the most romantic city in the world. He decided not to waste that unique moment by standing and staring like a dunce.

"Happy birthday, Tom," he whispered and leaned to the Dark Lord and kissed him with passion, bringing him closer and squeezing him in his arms. He couldn't get over how good it felt.

"Just look how everyone around is celebrating it," he whispered and kissed him again, enjoying the eager response he received while listening to other peoples' cheers.

"None of us would be standing here right now, if it weren't of Mr. Rodgers. Muggles aren't just worthless pieces of shit," he said when their lips parted again.

"Killing them doesn't interest me anymore," Voldemort admitted. "I have different priorities now."

"Vampires?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the Dark Lord said flatly and his hand returned to Harry's armpit. "Which reminds me..."

"All right," Harry nodded. "I've seen enough. Let's go talk to LeRoy."

They apparated again and before Harry could catch some sign which would help him identify the place, Voldemort pushed him towards a massive stone wall and led him through invisible doors inside some dark chamber. Harry fought down the discomfort of losing his most important sense and spoke to the Dark Lord who still held his arm.

"Where are we?"

According to the coldness and strange smell of the musty air, Harry judged that it was some church or cathedral.

Which was a correct guess as he learned a second later.

"Notre-Dame," Voldemort hissed quietly. _**"Pull out your wand, boy. LeRoy is here."**_

"Shouldn't we try to talk to her without the wands first?"

Voldemort didn't listen to him. Frankly, he didn't even wait for him and disappeared somewhere in the darkness, leaving him completely alone.

Harry held back a sigh. He refused to stay somewhere in the corner, waiting how the situation would turn out. Voldemort brought him here because that woman wanted to meet him and Harry wasn't going to stay aside.

"_Lumos_," he whispered and soft bluish light instantly depicted the outlines of several monumental columns forming the great Gothic nave and long dark benches on both sides with a narrow passage in the middle.

Harry stood still, waiting to see if she would appear. When nothing happened, he mustered up his courage and set forward through the long passage among the benches. He halted every now and then, listening, but all he could hear was his own breath and hammering heartbeat. The gloomy atmosphere started to pick up on his nerves and he couldn't help but wonder where Voldemort went and what was going on.

And then he heard it. The distant sound of heel against the marble floor growing closer with every second. Harry nervously licked his lips and lowered the wand to appear as non-aggressive as possible.

The clapping sound stopped about twenty feet from him and the soft light coming from his wand revealed a figure of a shockingly young woman wearing a dark, close-fitting dress and high heel court shoes. For a fraction of second Harry stood agape. According to her looks she couldn't be older than thirty. Could that be some kind of magic? Because from what Voldemort told him, he expected to see someone considerably older.

"Mrs...," he coughed to clear his throat. "Mrs. LeRoy?"

She didn't answer, only watched him scathingly, her eyes appearing to be just as black as her long wavy hair.

"Voldemort," she spat out disdainfully and Harry was stunned because she apparently thought that he was a dark lord in disguise. What more, she wasn't afraid to say that name aloud. Surprised by these discoveries, he didn't even notice that her pronunciation was somehow odd.

"N... no, I'm not him," Harry protested, but sudden soft steps coming from behind him made him realize that she wasn't talking to him.

"C'est un grand déplaisir de finalement vous rencontrer,*" she sneered and Harry internally cursed. How could he be so naïve and expect that she would talk in English? Now he could only regret that he had never had time to learn the basics of Fleur's mother tongue.

"Je pense exactement la même chose. Au moins, vous avez choisi un lieu décent pour mourir."

Yeah, Voldemort who meanwhile halted behind him was speaking in French too. Great. If it weren't so embarrassing, Harry would interrupt them and ask for a translation.

"Nous verrons bien qui mourra le premier," LeRoy snorted as if Voldemort had somehow offended her.

"Je prends cela comme une provocation à un duel," the Dark Lord snapped coldly and though Harry recognized only the very last word of their discussion, he knew that it was bad.

"WAIT-!" he yelped, but Voldemort fetch out his wand like a sword and Harry's back hit one of the benches which shattered as it was slammed into the robust column.

Harry jumped back on his feet and froze as he watched Riddle attack that woman while she repaid him in kind. The relevance of the situation dawned on Harry once the green flashes enlightened the room with a murderous light.

And Harry's anger erupted like a volcano. Voldemort was not only about to break his word, but he also destroyed a little chance they had to obtain a key which could help them destroy Negura for good.

LeRoy meanwhile fell on the cold floor as another of the Dark Lord's hexes hit her and though she tried to get up as fast as possible, she wouldn't make it because Voldemort already cried out.

"_Avada...!_"

And he nearly dropped his wand and screamed out in rage.

"POTTER! Get out of the way, you idiot!"

But Harry stood unmoving in front of LeRoy, blocking the path of Voldemort's curse, glowering at the Dark Lord, keeping his wand at ready.

"WHAT THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?-!" he roared back at him. "Have you already forgotten what you promised me?-! Is your memory really that short, Riddle?-!"

"How dare you...!"

"Oh yes, are you going to kill me too?-!" Harry spat out, his heart nearly imploding at the pressure as he screamed those words. Yet, he kept his voice and pose steady.

Strangely, Voldemort's reaction wasn't the one he expected. The Dark Lord instantly lowered the wand as if he burnt himself.

"You fool!" he snapped at him, probably just as mad as Harry.

But he was deeply affected by what almost happened. Harry could see that much.

_**"I might not have stopped it in time," **_he hissed as he turned away from Harry and moved to collapse heavily on the nearest bench.

Harry breathed out the air he was holding in his lungs. The aftermaths of the adrenaline rush left his knees a bit wobbly and he considered sitting down as well.

"Who are you?-!" a deep, female voice asked him and Harry turned to face the speaker, all thoughts of rest forgotten.

It was LeRoy. She finally took notice of Harry's presence.

"How did you do that?" she inquired. "How could you stop him?"

Then she paused.

"You're not one of his masked servants."

It was good to understand her for once. It spared Harry much trouble.

"Oh no, I'm not. I'm Harry Potter," he said and offered his hand.

"Can't be...," she muttered, her eyes wide. "You can't be _that _Harry Potter!"

"Um … well … I feel very authentic to myself," Harry said, wondering why she was so distrustful.

"Harry Potter is You-Know-Who's greatest enemy. Do you want me to believe, that he would come here with him?" she snarled and cast a quick glance behind Harry's shoulder.

"Obviously, he would if he had a very good reason for it," Harry said evenly, gazing into her black eyes. "And I think you know very well, why I'm here..."

"Don't say it!" she sputtered out, breathing quickly, "And prove yourself! I believe your Patronus is a stag, isn't it?"

Her eyes were eager, hopeful and not leaving his face except for tiny fractions of seconds which she needed to keep tabs on the Dark Lord.

Harry honestly didn't like to be stared at as if he were the last specimen of his kind. It made him nervous. But proving himself with a Patronus Charm shouldn't be too difficult. He was sure he could do that.

"Okay," he nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, looking for some bright memory, but this gloomy place was taking its toll on him and he couldn't think of anything potent enough. Harry dug deeper in his memories, chasing the recent glimmer of happiness. He saw the Eiffel Tower again, he felt Voldemort's smooth lips and warm breath against his own and then he imagined that he heard him say …_ 'I love you'_.

Impossible, but beautiful … oh, such a beautiful feeling. It filled Harry's heart with immense warmth and he opened his eyes and said.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

And his guardian was there, jumping out of the tip of his alder wand: huge and shining as always. It trotted down the passage, quiet and observant, as if it was looking for some Dementor to chase. Then it turned turned around and slowly walked back, as if it wanted to exhibit its unquestionable beauty. Harry expected the stag to come back to him as always, but the Patronus stopped several feet from him, turning its head towards the shadow on the left.

Harry's breath stuttered in his throat. It was watching Voldemort! Could it be that the Patronus knew what memory created it? Could it play any role that Harry was thinking of him when he cast the spell?

But what was Voldemort doing?

Harry's throat narrowed even more as he saw the Dark Lord approach the ethereal creature and extend his hand to touch its silver shine. It felt so _private_ to see him doing that … that he lost concentration.

The stag dissolved into a shining mist which was slowly faded away.

Someone's hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. He turned to LeRoy who was watching him intently.

"It's really you," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "I apologize for my former behaviour. If I knew..."

"It's all right," Harry said. "I came here with Voldemort because he told me that Gaston's last memory could put an end to Negura's rampage. You know, my friends are dying! Someone has to stop him before he kills every last human!"

"Yes," she whispered. "I know how you feel. I wanted to avenge my dear husband too and I feel like a coward that I never did. Gaston indeed discovered something important, but I've never gathered enough courage to watch that memory again. It is still locked inside my mind... I loved Gaston … and watching him die again … it would destroy me..."

"Then help me," Harry insisted, his voice teeming with understanding "Give me that memory and I'll make sure that Negura will pay for all his hideous crimes!"

"The worst pain of all is when you lose someone you love. I know you understand me," she whispered, her dark eyes suddenly soft.

Harry's throat felt suddenly very narrow. He didn't dare to speak and merely nodded.

"The problem is that Negura knows it too. He fears love, because he knows its power," she said and lowered her voice. "Look at You-Know-Who. They say he never loved anyone. Now compare him to Negura who loved very dearly and lost everyone he cared about. The lack of love in any form has frightening consequences."

Harry nodded again.

"Negura never sent my husband after me," she said solemnly. "Though he knew that I witnessed how he killed Gaston and heard what he told him before, he had never sent him after me. He's afraid that Gaston would remember … and refuse to kill me. As I said, Negura knows the power of love..."

"But his minions have been tracking me for years," she continued after a short pause. "And I'm growing tired of running. Maybe it's time for you to take care of this burden … Harry," she said as she pulled out a small crystal vial from the folds of her dress.

She hesitated and then looked up at his face and smiled pleasantly.

"Before I give this to you … there is something I would like to get in return."

Harry unstuck his throat.

"What is it?"

"You've been my little hero for years. I kept my fingers crossed for you. You, the defender of Muggleborns, standing all alone against that snake-like monster. I wished you the best since you were a young boy and now I'm glad to see that you've grown into a very handsome man."

Harry's eyebrows rose. It was flattering to hear that, but he still didn't like very much where this was going.

"Thanks," he muttered and dragged his feet nervously. Hopefully, Voldemort wasn't listening to her flirting with him.

"I think that beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he said. "The person whose looks you mock, someone else might admire."

She didn't seem to get the hint, which irked Harry a little, but he decided to leave it alone.

"Anyway, I intend to give you that memory," she said a moment later with her eyes glued to Harry's face, "if you kiss me first. It's been so long since I felt it the last time... "

Harry should be probably prepared for this possibility, but he wasn't.

"Ex … Excuse me?" he asked somewhat rudely.

"Kiss me, Harry," she repeated. "The vampires are coming for me and if I am to die, I want to remember how it feels to be … loved."

Harry felt the heat running up to colour whole his face.

"I … I can't," he muttered, his breath faltering. Damn it, what would Voldemort do if he saw them kissing? He would kill them both for sure, but what bothered Harry more than that was that he would feel used and deceived.

"I'm sorry … but I have feelings for someone," he forced through his clenched throat.

"You don't have to tell her," LeRoy smiled again and came closer.

Harry hardly resisted the urge to take a step back. In truth, she may be quite attractive, but the thought of kissing her felt wrong. _Absolutely wrong._

"That person is very important to me, I don't want to..."

"Be unfaithful?" she finished instead of him.

"Yes," Harry quickly nodded, looking for some escape route as she leaned closer.

"You must love her so much that you can't even betray her in your thoughts," she smiled and kissed Harry's cheek. "Hmm, what a sweet fragrance. Your girlfriend uses a very lovely perfume," she added as she smelled his skin.

"Your girlfriend, Potter?"

Harry's stomach flip flopped at the sound of that cold voice.

Voldemort had a very bad habit of appearing in the worst moment possible. Harry glanced to the right side and saw him stood there with some floating dead body behind him. It was a disturbing sight even though that corpse apparently belonged to a vampire. Its chest was stabbed, yet there was no sign of blood. Harry assumed that Voldemort decided to check if it was tracking LeRoy. And he just returned to see Harry being smooched by the widow while she talked about Harry's nonexistent girlfriend.

Harry inwardly cursed when he realized the conclusions Voldemort could make of it.

"No! Look, this is all a huge misunderstanding! This perfume was sent to me by in a letter as a display of affection from one of my fans. I got drenched in it by mistake … and most importantly I _don't_ have a girlfriend!"

His eyes bored into Voldemort's, hoping that he would see the truth in there. However, before he could be sure he succeeded; LeRoy interrupted his attempts for a wordless communication.

"Yes," she smiled kindly. "It's clever to keep You-Know-Who in dark about the people you love. I admire your spirit, Harry. I think you truly deserve my trust."

And with that she opened the crystal vial, brought her wand to her temple and when she withdrew it, a swirling silver memory shined on its tip. She lowered it into the vial, sealed it up and placed the little glass object into Harry's palm. Then she retreated slowly.

"Make sure that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Good luck, Harry. Be careful," she said and cast an acidic glare at the Dark Lord, which was instantly repaid with an equally venomous glance. The next moment she was gone, her figure dissolving in the shadows like a ghost.

"Hey - wait! Thank you!" Harry called after her, but she probably didn't hear him anymore. Harry's eyes turned to the silver content flickering in the vial and then to Voldemort.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he said again to clear any remaining doubts. The Dark Lord approached him, watching him intently.

"Who was that man?" Harry asked in a more quiet voice and wagged his head in a direction of a lifeless shell on the floor.

"A vampire who had been watching us. But it also could have been you, boy. The moment you meddled in that duel was very nearly your last," Voldemort hissed.

"I wouldn't be meddling if you weren't using Killing Curses!" Harry stomped his foot. It was exasperating to see how Voldemort refused to leave his old ways. Harry couldn't get over it just like that.

Voldemort didn't respond to that. He appeared to be deep in thought as he paced back and forth and then around Harry. Suddenly, he stopped beside him and wound his arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Tell me Harry, who is that important person you mentioned to LeRoy before? Is it I?"

Harry, shocked by the sudden change in the topic, needed a few seconds to recuperate.

"Yes," he nodded and clenched the crystal vial in his fist. "But I wish you weren't so difficult all the time. Do I ask so much when I want you to stop killing people? Can you really not hold back those murderous tendencies? Because, honestly, I think that you can control yourself very well, but you simply refuse to."

"I prefer an easy solution to a problem."

"If that was the truth, you would have killed me long ago," Harry replied and disentangled himself from his clutch, heading towards the door.

Voldemort caught up with him and made Harry turn and look at him.

"Next time you'd better try harder to keep your word," Harry retorted but accepted the kiss he was given.

"And you say I am difficult," Voldemort whispered and Harry brought their lips together again to engage them in a completely different kind of fight.

When they pulled apart to catch their breath, the Dark Lord reached out and smoothed the little wrinkle of worries on Harry's forehead with his thumb.

"Cheer up, Harry," he said. "You managed to get that memory. You outdid my expectations."

Harry had to suppress a shiver of delight when the cool lips began to trace the shape of his jaw. Anything feeling that pleasurable should be forbidden.

"I may not approve your methods, but I do approve your results," Riddle hissed softly into Harry's ear and his chilly fingers opened Harry's fist and extracted the small pendant from it.

"Hey-," Harry started but Voldemort's lips stifled his protests.

"I wouldn't have obtained it without you," he said then and raised the little vial at the level of his eyes.

"You know, I would like to see that memory as well," Harry reminded him.

"But of course," Voldemort replied, still gazing at the small object. "You can, once you'll learn to speak French."

"I can deal with this little inconvenience, thanks," Harry held his own.

"Yes, I know you're quite resourceful. I've seen how masterfully you manipulated LeRoy to your favour. Though you rejected her advances, she still gladly gave you this."

"What?-! I'm not some swindler!" Harry sputtered out, offended. "I didn't lie or use any dirty tricks!"

"And what about that girlfriend?"

"I think I said quite clearly that I don't have any! It's not my problem that she didn't believe me!"

Voldemort leant to his ear.

"Just as I said, a masterful piece of work."

"You-!" Harry growled and he really wanted to hit him for that, but his hormones got the better of him and he ended up attacking his mouth, biting his lips and sucking them eagerly. Ever since they left Axminster Harry was suppressing his needs and he couldn't do it forever. He was burning to do it right away. Blood throbbed in his temples and droned in his ears as he rubbed his aching body against Voldemort's and the man's hardly concealed delightful moan told him that the action was highly appreciated.

_**"Yes … yes … I want you too … Harry..."**_

That was all Harry let him say, for that mouth of his could be put to much better use than talking. The mist of pleasure clouded his senses and everything would be just perfect if only Harry didn't suddenly feel such a weird sensation of being watched … being in danger...

It had to be a fault of this mysterious place … or could it be that LeRoy returned?

Voldemort ended the kiss abruptly and everything happened impossibly fast after that. Harry could almost tangibly feel someone else behind himself and though he turned his head so fast that something cracked in his spine, he only managed to glimpse a flash of razor sharp fangs.

Fangs which were aiming for his neck...

And then there was a horrible shriek of pain … a shriek which wasn't coming from his mouth...

Harry saw how the fangs cut through the white flesh of a bony hand, he saw the long fingers curl in agony as the dark red blood spilled over them.

A sight of such a brutal violence nearly crazed him. He heard himself roar in fury and lunged himself at the attacker, wrenching the strong jaws apart with the raw force of his muscles. After Harry's fierce assault the vampire released the bite and fell with the youngster on the ground, shattering another bench in the process. With a wild growl the vampire tried to repeat the attack, but Harry was ready. He grasped a long splinter from the crushed bench and thrust it right through the vampire's chest just before its bloody mouth could tear his throat apart.

The creature screamed and its body doubled up in seizures, before its muscles finally slackened and its black eyes lost focus. Only then did Harry hastily pulled his wand from his pocket and cried out in shock as he took his first look of the face before him.

_It was her!_

It was the widow! Stripped of her beautifying magic she looked at least twice as old, but her features were still perfectly recognizable.

"What … what is this?-! What does it mean?-!" Harry muttered with trembling voice as he watched the unmoving woman on the floor.

She was dead … and he just killed her!

And Harry's breath stopped completely as he saw the huge fresh wound on her neck. The discovery was just too much. She was already dead – or undead, when she attacked him. She fell victim to another vampire mere minutes ago!

Harry raised his eyes and all of a sudden he could see them everywhere … behind every column: in every shadow he glimpsed the hungry stare of a bloodthirsty monster. Or was it just his eyes playing tricks on him?

"POTTER!"

It was Voldemort screaming at him. The Dark Lord caught his collar and dragged him somewhere, but Harry's stiff legs barely supported his weight.

"_Lumos Solem!_"

The spell exploded above them, filling the colossal nave with a bright light and also with the cries of creatures of the night, who were blinded and maimed by its power.

They crawled back into the safety of the shadows while Harry took the time to refocus his thoughts. Now it was him, who helped the Dark Lord as they ran towards the exit. They finally made outside, where Voldemort instantly Apparated them.

They reappeared on a snowy, sheet-metal roof of some building, both sinking to their knees.

"What the fuck...," Harry moaned breathlessly, "What the fuck was that? What happened?"

"Shut up, Potter, just shut up!" Voldemort snarled through his clenched teeth, his breath turning into fast, pained, wheezy gasps.

Harry quickly looked at him and his stomach clenched at a nauseating sight of copious volumes of blood all over his hand. It was dripping everywhere - onto the snow and his robes.

Voldemort was clutching at his wrist and muttering something under his breath, his face paler than ever before.

Harry's eyes returned to the seriously wounded hand and he felt a sharp pang of guilt.

"God, it looks so … let me help you, Tom," he whispered, his voice clouded with strain.

"Let me help you, please," he repeated insistently, when he got no reply.

"Tom! Just let me do something! Say what you need and I'll do it! I'll get it for you!"

Finally, the distressed red eyes found his, and the cold voice hissed unevenly.

"Give me your cloak! And conjure a bandage. Quickly! I can't … concentrate..."

"Yeah! Right away!"

Harry scrambled to his feet, took off the cloak and covered Voldemort's back and shoulders. Then he knelt to him and helped him dress the badly bleeding wound. It couldn't go unnoticed by him how cold and clammy the skin felt against his own.

Harry, feeling utterly anxious, chewed his lower lip. Voldemort was beginning to show signs of a shock, which was a natural reaction to such trauma.

"We must leave," Voldemort said then and Harry nodded, wiping the blood off his hands into the snow. "I can't Apparate us back to England now," he said as he got up. "And we cannot stay here..."

Harry looked over the lit city and noticed the ongoing celebrations in the distance. How could he be so jubilant not so long ago? It was so childish of him... But the important thing was that they were both alive. Now he had to make sure they would stay like that till the morning.

He suddenly remembered Hermione and that awesome tent she carried in her handbag. What he would do to have her here right now with the Essence of Dittany, warm blue flames and safe shelter... But at least his friends were safe, though he couldn't really take anything for granted anymore.

"Let's find an empty Muggle house," Harry suggested as he considered remaining possibilities. "Slughorn was doing that all the time when he was hiding from the Death Eaters."

Voldemort snorted distastefully, but Harry defiantly continued.

"I don't think it's a good idea to wander outside and as I recall, you didn't mind it very much when we stayed overnight with Mr. Rodgers..."

"That's enough!" Voldemort snapped and then said. "Yes … we will use a Muggle house."

"Okay. Don't do anything. I'll take care of it," Harry said seized the Dark Lord's forearm.

xxxxx

_Paris, the suburb_

_1__st__January__ 200__1__, 0__0__:__28_

They apparated again into another district where Harry hastily found them acceptable accommodation. It was a small flat on the fourth floor, situated at the corner of a busy street. The apartment had only two rooms and a small kitchen but it was all they needed for the night.

It was a clean, tidy and most importantly warm place and Harry swore to make sure that the poor Muggles who lived in here wouldn't know a thing about their uninvited visitors. After that he briskly finished the protective and Muggle-repelling charms and went to check on Voldemort, who sat on the wide bed in the bedroom and worked on his hand.

Harry drew the maroon drapes over the windows with a flick of his wand and sat down on the flowery sheets beside his silent, suffering partner.

Voldemort removed the last layer of the bandage and the blood rushed out of the wound again. Then he placed his limb into a large bowl, which he conjured, washed it and quickly tried to seal the torn pieces of flesh. He was absolutely quiet, though Harry could feel how much effort it cost him.

"I'll make you tea and something to eat, okay?" he whispered when Tom didn't ask for any assistance. Voldemort said nothing to that and Harry took it as a silent agreement. He got up, but halted at a door frame.

"By the way … I owe you big thanks," he added quietly. The slightest tightening of the Dark Lord's lips was the only response he received.

Harry returned to the bedroom a couple of minutes later with two steaming cups of black tea and a plate of several home-made sandwiches. By that time Voldemort finally looked up at him. He seemed to be finished with the healing for now. His hand was bandaged again and no longer covered in dried blood. The same however couldn't be said about their clothes.

"Better?" Harry asked as he sat beside him and Riddle only nodded, taking a sip of his tea. There ate in silence, but it wasn't an unpleasant one. Except that Harry was still worried for him and cast scrutinizing glances at him every now and then.

The Dark Lord was strangely silent and only watched his hand, moving his fingers as if checking that they weren't numbing.

"I deserved this," he finally said, making the youngster choke on his morsel.

"What?-!" Harry said heatedly.

"I behaved like a fool, Harry," he whispered, the red eyes meeting the confused green ones.

"I didn't think it through at all."

"You didn't think through what?"

"It was a trap. The vampires were there from the very beginning, hiding in their animal forms."

"By that you mean … the bats?"

Voldemort nodded sharply.

"I didn't expect that the Mudblood bitch would stoop so low and accept their help in order to kill me."

"You think that LeRoy knew about them?-!" Harry gasped.

"Of course, she knew! You must not forget that she hated me just as much as Negura. So when I contacted her, she probably decided to make a deal with vampires who pursued her. It should have had a nice outcome for her – my life instead of hers."

Harry rose to his feet, suddenly feeling sick.

"But she helped us," he said. "She gave me that memory! Or … maybe not," Harry realized, staring blankly at the wall. "I don't know what that memory shows yet," he said and turned to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort slowly pulled out that small crystal vial and squeezed it in his healthy hand.

"No, I don't doubt this is a real one," he said. "You were an unexpected element of the whole encounter. LeRoy was certain that you wouldn't come. She thought that I lied about you."

"Yes, that's true," Harry nodded. "She thought I was a Death Eater in disguise."

"Which means that the moment she realized that you were really Harry Potter, she changed her plans," Voldemort said and hid the memory back into his sleeve.

"She decided to give me that memory after all... She had to know that she condemned herself to death when she did that!" Harry finished breathlessly, sank back on the bed and covered his face with his palms.

"And I couldn't even do as much as to kiss her!"

"So?" Voldemort snarled acidly.

Harry decided to be wiseand didn't explain what he meant by that.

"Anyway, what were the vampires waiting for? Why didn't they attack us right away? Why didn't they stop her from giving me the memory?"

"Yes, why indeed," the Dark Lord hissed and looked at his palm again. "I assume that they didn't trust her either. They probably thought that she lied about me to save herself. And when I did appear, they contacted Negura and waited for him to come and finish the job. It's obvious that their task was only to keep us inside."

"And here I thought that I was keeping us inside," Harry muttered and gently lay his hand over the bandage, his warm fingers draining away the tension from the hurt limb. Voldemort closed his eyes and sighed quietly, contentedly.

"They made only one mistake," he continued in a calmer voice. "They shouldn't have killed LeRoy right away, because after their creation, many vampires are possessed by an immense blood lust."

"And that's why she attacked us. That's what gave them away," Harry whispered. "Apropos, that vampire who you killed back there, how did you discovered him?"

"LeRoy let slip a warning for you that she was being tracked. She probably expected that once I went to search for them, they would attack me and she could escape with you. She didn't know that the vampires had a different plan. They picked one of them – let's say a scape goat – so the rest of them could stay in disguise."

They sat for a minute in silence, before Harry spoke again.

"Does it mean that Negura is in Paris by now?"

"That's very likely."

"Can he find us?"

Voldemort involuntarily touched the scar at the base of his neck and then his hand sought out the warmth of Harry's fingers. Once successful, he spoke.

"Impossible. Even if he were so lucky, I would know it long beforehand."

Harry, mollified by the affirmation, relaxed a little. They were relatively safe in here and the thought calmed him a bit. He got up, moved over to the window and peeped through the thin gap between the drapes at the dark sky.

"That's good," he said then and leaned against the wall.

"And what exactly is so good about this situation?" Voldemort hissed sharply and got up as well, coming face to face with his own reflection in the mirror on the wall. When he spoke again, it sounded like he was talking more to himself than Harry.

"I should have foreseen it. I should have considered the possibility that LeRoy worked for vampires. If I weren't so foolish, none of that would have happened!"

He said something more under his breath and though Harry puzzled out only a small part of that monologue, he was downright insulted.

"Eh?-!What?-! Did you just say that it's all _my_ fault?" Harry sputtered out.

"Yes, it is!" Voldemort snapped at him. "None of that would happen if you weren't messing with my thoughts!"

"Excuse me?-!"

"How is it possible that I couldn't think of anything but you for past few days?-! Instead of scheming out some reliable plan I drowned in doubts whether or not you will appear! And when you did, I was so...," Voldemort winced and paused, but his accusing stare remained intact. "I don't know how you're doing it, but I don't like it, so _stop it now_!"

A strange warmth spread through Harry's body after hearing those words. So Voldemort had real feelings for him, something more than a mere lust as he liked to call it. And the way he struggled with it was downright adorable.

Harry's chest heaved, his stomach was filled with butterflies and his hands were sweating – no he was sweating from head to toe, because the air in the room had suddenly become thick and hot. He shifted his weight on his feet and tried to force his feverish brain to consider the basic facts. They were alone. No one could distract them here. This could be the moment he was waiting for.

"Well…," Harry coughed and cleared his throat. "I think I have exactly the same problem, 'cause I've been thinking of you … eh ... for many days and so… eh … maybe we could … you know … we could try to make … that tension … a little more bearable now?"

If that wasn't the hardest sentence Harry had ever said, he would go buy a hat and eat it. Damn it, he nearly lacked the courage to look at Voldemort after that.

But he did and therefore he could see how the confusion written in the pale face was slowly replaced by comprehension. The Dark Lord tilted his head to the side, thinking.

"Are you talking about … sex?" he said then.

Harry's whole body jolted in a reaction to that word. Apparently, he wasn't as incomprehensible as he feared.

"Yeah," he muttered, "that's exactly what I'm talking about."

"Here? In this Muggle den?"

Harry's lips twitched.

"Um, is it too kinky for your taste?"

Voldemort looked bemused for a moment, before his sight turned down to his sore hand. That simple action effectively brought Harry out of the state of pure happiness. As the realization dawned on him, he wanted to start banging his head against the nearest wall. How could he forget about his pain and treat him with such indecent proposals instead? Since when he was so … insensitive?

"I'm … sorry, that was _really_ stupid of me. You're still hurting, you can't possibly have thoughts of some familiarities. Please, forget what I said, okay?"

The Dark Lord turned away from him, shed both cloaks he wore and revealed the dark robes adorned with the chain. Then he looked at Harry with a peculiar expression on his face and after a short hesitation approached him.

"Tom?" Harry whispered, his whole body tensing up.

Cold fingertips touched his temple and followed the hairline to his ear. He continued to leaninto him, ever so slowly and graciously, until his flattened nose nearly touched Harry's face. He stayed like that for a moment, absorbing the warmth. He looked so relaxed when he breathed in through his little nostrils and slowly exhaled, his eyes remained peacefully closed as he did so. Only his lips slightly trembled as if recalling the taste and feel of Harry's skin.

"A letter from your fan, you say," he whispered then and moved in so close that their mouths practically touched and Harry loved it. He loved how it made him feel when that warm, moist tip of tongue experimentally touched the seam of his lips.

"Oh Tom, I..."

The tender connection was broken and Voldemort raised his head.

"Quit using that goddamn name and … go have a bath," he hissed softly, and his warmed fingers leaving the back of Harry's neck.

"Does it mean that you really want to-?" Harry whispered breathlessly and the soft, thin lips merely formed a small smile in response.

"Will you join me?"

The smile disappeared and Voldemort stepped back and gave him a quizzical look.

"And why exactly should _I _join you in a _Muggle bathroom_?"

"Oh, I see. You're not into that kind of foreplay," Harry said and scratched the back of his neck. He was really sweaty and smelling of blood. "No problem, really."

"Foreplay?"

What an odd response to such a common word. The Dark Lord said it as if he tested how that word sounded. Judging by that genuine interest and desire to explore its meaning, he probably never used it before. Only Harry would be much happier if he didn't instantly try to use his memories as the information source.

"No, don't!" he attempted to stop him in the last second, but it was too late, Voldemort's fierce eyes bored into his mind and extracted something Harry quite desperately wanted to keep only for himself. Now he didn't know whether to dread the oncoming reaction or vent his fury.

"How could you?-!"

"It seems that you have even dirtier mind than Bellatrix, Harry," Voldemort said and noisily clicked his tongue. "She never dared to dream about me sucking off her cock but only because, luckily, she didn't have one."

At that point Harry was already red like a tomato.

"Oh please, spare me Bellatrix's wet dreams! Good thing that I can't see into _your_ head anymore!" he barked out exasperatedly as he backed out of the room.

"And what about my dreams, Harry? Wouldn't you want to know?"

Of course that he did. How could he pretend they didn't interest him when he was dying to know everything about them.

"Your dreams?" he asked, surprised. "You've had dreams about me?"

The little secretive smile he received turned Harry's blood into molten lava, burning away the last shreds of irritation.

"Give me five minutes," he managed to choke out and bolted out of the room to plunge into the bathroom.

Never before had Harry undressed himself so quickly. He didn't even count how many buttons cut loose from his shirt as he heedlessly pulled it over his head with the jeans following right after, while he was already climbing into the bathtub and turning on the water.

"Oh yes," Harry muttered as he quickly rubbed shampoo into his unruly black hair and down his body.

Of course he was dreaming about him if he was thinking about him all day long; when he protected him with his bare hands from a lethal attack...

Harry couldn't take it anymore. He barely touched himself and his spine nearly cracked as he bent backward and tried to hold back a cry of release.

The instant feeling of longed-for relief prolonged his pleasure and Harry leaned against the wall behind him, sucking air in, in quick breaths and let the warm drops of water wash away the mess he made. His curious mind meanwhile started to present him pictures of what he thought Voldemort dreamt about him.

Were the Dark Lord's dreams similar to his? What exactly did he imagine when he was thinking of him?

And as Harry began to fantasize about it, the satisfied smile on his lips slowly disappeared.

He had to grudgingly admit, that they hardly were the same. It seemed absurd to think that the Dark Lord dreamed about giving him a heavenly blowjob. Or that he dreamed about encircling his awesomely long legs around his hips so he could willingly give him an access to that tight, soft heat of his body…

What if in his fantasies it was Harry doing all these things?

Harry staggered and slid down to sit in the bathtub. He felt like a struck by a lightening. How could he possibly never consider this before? Why did he so egoistically think that he would be the one to get all the pleasure? Dreams could be so cruel sometimes...

Now that his imagination began to present him completely different pictures, his mind recoiled from it. For such a long time he had thought he was straight and the fact that he had a crush on a man now didn't make him automatically accept all the aspects of homosexuality.

It never even occurred to him that he could be asked to play the girl's role. But, who was he kidding? Voldemort wasn't a woman either. There may not be a substantial difference when it came to kissing and hugging a guy, but what about the other things? As a man, Tom surely had the same needs like him! And Harry was supposed to ensure that all of them were satisfied after repeatedly trying to seduce him tonight!

As Harry stared at the ceiling, he felt that it was going to crush down on him. He would even welcome it. Never before had he wanted to chicken out of a task, but this seemed to be too much even for him. Maybe he wasn't brave enough.

On the other hand, he couldn't stay in this bathtub forever. The Muggles who lived in this flat wouldn't like it very much.

Harry suppressed a sigh and slowly got up. He stopped the water, took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. It wasn't his style to back out of his responsibility. He wanted this to happen so he would do it – and face it like a man.

With that resolution Harry knelt to his jeans, pulled out the little gift he had for Voldemort, conjured a towel and wrapped it around his waist and finally turned to reach for the doorknob.

_**R&R**_

_**Speech in Parseltongue**_

***Author's note:** translation:

It's a great displeasure to finally meet you./C'est un grand déplaisir de finalement vous rencontrer.

I think the same. You have chosen a decent place to die, though./Je pense exactement la même chose. Au moins, vous avez choisi un lieu décent pour mourir.

We'll see who will die first./Nous verrons bien qui mourra le premier.

I take that as a challenge to a duel./Je prends cela comme une provocation à un duel.


	11. Change of heart, part 1

**Author's note:** Thank you very much for all your reviews! I deeply value all your opinions and though I might not always follow them, it doesn't mean that I didn't consider them. I have noticed that some readers are confused or doesn't approve behavior of the main character. I will try to explain my point of view. I do not do this very often, because I usually try to express the character's nature and motives through his/her actions and speech instead of author's notes, however I think that Harry deserves to be paid a special attention.

First of all, Harry is not a dark lord in training. Which means that he is not a fabulously talented wizard with IQ over 200. Though he's clever, he's surely not as thoughtful and quick as Hermione. If some of you like him better as a young copy of Merlin or Salazar, please rather browse some Dark!andPowerful!Harry fan fiction (of which I think that they can be great too, but not exactly 'my cup of tea') instead of waiting for him to change in this one. He will improve as I promised, but he will never be as great as Voldemort. I think that his strength lies in a different field.

All I'm trying to do is to keep Harry as human as possible, which also means keeping his flaws. I wouldn't even enjoy writing about him if he didn't have any. Still, I would like to ask those of you who are trying to see 'my Harry' as 'the canon Harry' to realize the difference, or else I am inevitably doomed to fail you. Of course that _I want _him to be like 'the canon Harry' and _I am_ trying to keep the basics of his character intact, but I _do_ miss the details, because I am as far from Joanne's understanding of Harry Potter as Vernon Dursley is from the comprehension of magic.

Thank you for your patience with my rather unjustified rant. I won't be bothering you with this anytime soon again. :) Please, enjoy the chapter.

**Special thanks to**: TheSecretUchiha for beta-reading this story

**Warning:** This chapter contains a sex scene between two men. If you don't want to read about this, then please just don't.

**Rating of this chapter: M**

**xxxxx  
**

**Change of Heart, part I**

xxxxx

_Paris, the suburb_

_1__st__ January 2001, 0:55_

Why was it so difficult?

Though Harry already decided to go through with it, why did he feel that he would rather sit the N.E.W.T. exams with Snape instead of walking out before the Dark Lord in his current state of undress? Harry looked down at the towel tied around his waist and sighed.

It's not like he hadn't been through worse – much worse, actually. Dammit, he even went to face his own death (which, ironically, should have been delivered by the very same man) and though he was frightened to the core of his being, he didn't object, run away or hide! How many people could say that they would be able to do the same? This was supposed to be just a piece of cake in comparison.

It should. In theory.

Harry stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind himself. Then he propped his back against the cold surface, thinking. It would be probably easier for him if he weren't so average in every possible sense. Ginny used to say that he was perfect, but somehow he really doubted that Voldemort would see him the same. There was nothing special about him except for his cursed luck.

He sighed again and shook his head tiredly.

Anyway, he was aware that he should mentally prepare himself so Voldemort wouldn't see on the brink of a nervous breakdown. He'd better consider the worst thing which could possibly happen to him so he wouldn't be taken aback.

Strangely,he knew it right away, without even giving it much thought. And it had nothing to do with sex or the feeling of humiliation. It was something what was burning in the corner of his mind ever since they so narrowly escaped their death in the church.

The worst thing which could happen to him was opening the door to the bedroom and seeing that he was alone. And he would know with a crushing certainty that he had to be alone because the events in the cathedral took a different turn. Harry's chest tightened at the full realization. The Dark Lord told him that he didn't expect LeRoy to cooperate with vampires. If it went according to her plan, the moment he left them to seek through the cathedral, he was condemned to death. And Harry wouldn't even notice it being preoccupied by the discussion with the widow. If the monsters turned him into a vampire, Voldemort possessed by the blood-lust would attack them and Harry would stab his heart in self-defense, just like he did it to LeRoy. Unsuspecting, he would lit up his wand and see...

The sight of it … the sight of his pale, blank, lifeless face was before his eyes, the fact that it was his hand what doomed that shattered soul with a fateful finality to an endless suffering in hell even though he l... he loved him … no,nothing could be worse than that. Nothing by far.

Harry's throat narrowed and he wiped the wetness from the corners of his eyes.

He was being so silly when worrying about his comfort and pleasure instead of rejoicing that they were both alive. It didn't matter how good or bad their sex was as long as he could see him, talk to him, touch him and be with him. As long as they could share such precious intimate moments, how could he complain about anything?

Harry's tense muscles slowly relaxed as his mind filled with a strange serenity. He looked up at the orange paint of the opposite wall, dimly illuminated by several spot lights and breathed in the warm air smelling faintly of cinnamon, peppermint and lavender.

So he was in love. It was as simple as that. Falling in love … a completely effortless process which could either make him absolutely happy or devastatingly sad.

He wanted to laugh and cry and he wouldn't mind doing both at once to vent the feelings which sprung to life after he finally gave them the name they deserved.

Unfortunately, Harry's happy bubble was too fragile and almost burst with his next thought.

Voldemort couldn't love him back. He recalled that both Dumbledore and LeRoy insisted that it was something far beyond Voldemort's scope. If it weren't of his own conviction that none of them had a chance to get to know him as closely as he did, Harry would probably consider turning on the spot and going back to Notre-Dame and let the vampires feast upon him. However, since neither Dumbledore, nor LeRoy could see the evidence of Voldemort's feelings which was so openly displayed to him several minutes ago, they judged Riddle only on the basis of the crimes he committed. Harry knew those crimes all too well, but he also knew the reasons which led him to that path of damnation. So if there was something he wanted to know, it would be what exactly the Dark Lord felt right now. Even if he was really incapable of love, his feelings were definitely positive and strong. It had to be enough for now.

Harry pushed the rest of his uncertainties into the farthest corner of his mind, straightened himself up and combed his wild, wet hair with his fingers. Then he took in a deep breath, turned the corner, and with the briefest hesitation opened the door and entered the bedroom.

And he couldn't believe his eyes.

It looked nothing like before. All the Muggle furniture was reduced to the tenth of its original size and pushed carelessly into the furthest corner. The previous yellow painting on the walls was changed into a dark green hue which oddly made the room appear bigger for some reason. Also, the drapes over the windows were in dark shades of green; they appeared nearly black at the first sight, just like the bedspread and the rug on the floor.

Harry nervously scrutinized the bed for a second and then his eyes glided over the empty room towards a shining copper bathtub which stood in front of a fireplace. Neither of those things was supposed to be there, he realized in amazement.

Finally his eyes located the Dark Lord.

He was already out of the steaming water, facing the large mantelpiece and adjusting his long robes. Little droplets still glittered on the skin of his head like tiny diamonds. Though Harry found that sight utterly captivating, his little chest monster also forced him to notice that the rest of Voldemort's clothing – the black cloak, trousers, shirt and waistcoat – was rather carelessly dumped in a pile beside the bathtub. While his brain was trying to process all of that, he managed to ask in a stunned voice.

"What have you done?"

Voldemort paused in his movements and then he spoke.

"What do you think? Is it so surprising for you that Lord Voldemort refuses to rest in a dirty Muggle bed?"

The Dark Lord didn't look at him as he answered.

"You said five minutes," he reminded him then. "It's been nineteen."

Harry's tense shoulders unlocked and he almost chuckled.

"Sorry about that. I've forgotten to borrow Dumbledore's watch. Have you missed me that much?" he smiled.

Voldemort didn't response to that. He flicked his wand and the bath disappeared only to be replaced by an armchair. He elegantly took the seat, still refusing to look at Harry.

The easement Harry felt was quickly gone.

"Have I angered you somehow?" he asked grudgingly as he came closer to him.

"No," Voldemort said shortly. Whatever was bothering him, he didn't elaborate on it.

Harry stopped beside his chair, bathing in the warmth coming from the fireplace, while watching him intensely. In a matter of seconds Voldemort looked up, irritated.

His garnet eyes widened for a fraction of second as he took in Harry's naked chest. Then he briskly composed himself and met Harry's stare.

Harry, however, didn't miss how his breath rate increased.

"I have something for you. Close your eyes," he told him kindly.

Suspicion leaked into Voldemort's voice as he asked.

"Why? What is it?"

"It's a surprise," Harry said. "What? Don't you believe me?" he smiled nervously.

Taut features on the pale face softened a bit. Apparently, the Dark Lord remembered the present Harry promised to give him tonight and so he did as he was asked, though the tension didn't leave him completely. It made Harry wonder as he bend down to him, whether he was also drowning in doubts just like he was few moments ago.

Their common past was pestilent like a Boggart. It always appeared in the worst time, taking on the worst form and Harry decided to change that as he gently caressed the pale cheek with his fingertips.

Then he placed a heavy, golden locket on the pale chest which peeked at him through the narrow opening of the loose robes and hung the cold chain around his neck.

"I used to detest this object immensely," he whispered to him as he kept his hand over the locket, pressing it slightly to his chest.

"And yet I'm going to miss it. I will miss it nearly as much as I miss you whenever we are apart."

He raised his hand then, leaving the stunned Dark Lord in his silent consternation.

It took a long while for those long, trembling fingers to seize the locket and open it.

"I met many difficulties when I tried to repair it," Harry said quietly, referring to the glass in both windows. "It's not like new … it cannot even be. But I want you to know that I tried my best."

The slightly cracked windows were empty.

Nothing was staring back.

Nothing lived inside anymore.

The pale hand clutched it forcefully and Voldemort slowly rose to his extraordinary height.

"Why," he said again, his voice nearly an inaudible hiss. "Why are you giving me this? Are you mocking me, Potter? Do you want to remind me how much you … crippled me so I could never forget it?-!"

As he spoke his cold voice was gaining in strength just like the menacing fire in his eyes.

Harry was prepared for that. Actually, he was even prepared to face his wand, which wasn't out of his sleeve yet. It helped him a great deal to keep his calm posture.

"No," he said quietly and a trace of real sadness slipped into his voice. "I'm giving this back to you because it belongs to you. I have no right to keep it for myself. Don't get me wrong. Three years ago, I was so happy when I could participate in its destruction and I would laugh like a mad if someone told me then that I could regret it in the future... Now it's too late. I may wish I saved whatever was inside, but it's done - I cannot take it back. Remember, we were in a war at that time. This is one of its heaviest burdens which had taken its toll on both of us. Please, let's leave it behind. Because believe me or not, you're not the only one who's hurting when thinking of the past..."

Voldemort didn't say anything as he watched him with slightly unfocused gaze and Harry caught himself desperately wishing to know what thoughts were running through his head.

"Anyway, this is your rightful family heirdom," he continued. "I'm sure your mother would pass it to you if she didn't have to sell it in existential need."

Slowly, very slowly Voldemort turned to watch the flames. The silence wore on for a long minutes before the Dark Lord finally broke it.

"She didn't have to sell anything," he said, his voice strangely muted.

"She was a witch; a descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin. She could get herself anything she needed in order to survive… But she renounced her magic and that's why she died."

He paused, clenching his teeth. "And all of that … because of a single, worthless, scabby Muggle!"

Harry instinctively reached out to touch his hand, but Voldemort recoiled.

"She loved him," Harry whispered quietly.

"Yes, she did! She committed the worst kind of blasphemy because she was blinded by that loathsome human weakness. Love turns magicians into pitiful weaklings and brainless fools who are solely depended on the objects of their interest! It's the lowest and most despicable... "

"You are wrong!" Harry cut him off with a resolute voice.

"Am I, Potter?-! How can you say so after agreeing with me that love was the reason why she died?-!"

"Don't blame love as much as the lack of it, Tom. Love doesn't turn people weak, it makes them strong … actually, much stronger than they think they are."

While Voldemort was thinking of some venomous comeback, Harry gently seized his injured hand and brought it to his lips.

"Just look at this," he said and carefully kissed the top of the bandage. "What impulse brought you to do this? You didn't have to get yourself involved. You could safely escape if you wanted to."

Distraught from his previous thoughts, the Dark Lord quickly considered what he was told.

"Are you suggesting that I...?"

Suddenly, he let out a cackle of a mad laughter.

"No, Harry! I acted on a mere instinct," he jeered. "I wasn't thinking about stopping her or protecting you."

Harry's smile grew wider in a response to that.

"Wow. That's amazing 'cause it means that it's your subconscious what is telling you to protect me regardless of your own safety."

After hearing that Voldemort's incredulity mounted and mounted until it peaked in a form of pure dread – and then he relaxed, chasing that thought away like a pestiferous insect.

"Don't be ridiculous. It was a mere accident," he dismissed it.

Harry's mood changed fast and he was suddenly very serious.

"Maybe," he nodded fervently. "But let me tell you what wasn't an accident. My heart went into pieces when I heard you scream. It crazed me – it was like a hot dagger piercing me through and I wished I could sustain that bite myself rather than watch it happen to you! The helplessness … it was a torture … it was killing me! _Damn it!_ You have no idea … how you make me feel!"

Harry bit his trembling lower lip and swallowed heavily to ease some of the burn in his throat. Laying his feelings bare was incomparably worse than doing so with his body. It made him feel so much more vulnerable.

"How I make you feel?"

Harry expected that question, yet it wasn't the reason why he looked up. It was something new and formerly unheard in Voldemort's voice.

Wonder. Fascination. _Hope._

The cat-like pupils of his blood red eyes were so dilated that they resembled glowing coals and his mouth slackened ever so slightly as if he was witness to something amazing, yet beyond his understanding.

Harry felt a heated tremor running down his spine and legs, pooling in his soles. Voldemort appeared so _bright_ whenever he showed a real, warm, human response. Now that he was gazing at him and Harry could see the flames of desire consuming the steel barriers of Tom's self control, his stomach clenched so hard that even the Snitch wouldn't fit in. It was an odd sensation when he couldn't decide whether he was more nervous or excited. He hadn't felt this way since the very first time with Ginny.

No, wrong. This had to be stronger than that. Much stronger.

"Can I show you?" he whispered in a strangled voice.

Apparently, it took the Dark Lord a lot of effort to keep his face blank. However, when he spoke, his cold voice was hoarse with some unrecognisable emotion.

"Go to bed."

Harry's stomach lurched, but he gave a tiny nod of affirmation. When he was just about to repose himself, Voldemort stopped him with barely audible order.

"Sit."

Harry halted his movements and then turned to him. Leisurely, he lowered his body and settled himself on the sheets, his eyes not leaving Voldemort for a second.

Only two things were on his mind at that moment. First was his pounding heart which threatened to shatter his ribcage and second was the chill slowly seeping back into his bare feet from the cold floor. Other than that his head remained blissfully empty in his eager suspense.

Voldemort didn't hesitate long. He came over and touched Harry's face with his fingertips. It appeared that he was reassuring himself that this was real.

Harry closed his eyes at the feeling of the soft pads and sharp nails moving against his lips and chin. He relaxed and breathed out through his mouth, which was instantly invaded by two cold, questing digits. Harry's whole body jerked in shock. He instinctively squeezed them between his tongue and palate and looked up at the man before him.

Seeing that Voldemort watched him with a burning fervour, he draw back a little, gently rubbed the pads with the tip of his tongue and then sucked at the fingers fiercely, making the Dark Lord squeeze his eyes shut and clench his teeth.

It was when the fingers hit the back of his throat that he choked, making Voldemort remove his hand. The glowing red eyes, however, didn't left his own for a second.

Harry's throat tightened and not only because it was scraped a moment ago. He wondered what was he supposed to do now. He felt still too rational to simply delve into this insanity.

As if seeing that, the Dark Lord spared him of his inner turmoil in one deliberate movement. Without breaking the eye contact, he opened his pale mouth a little, pushed his white fingers past his lips and sucked away all the saliva which coated his fingers with a contended sigh.

It was crazy what that action did to Harry's body. It was the single most erotic thing he'd ever seen. In a matter of seconds he was stewing in his own body liquids. Not only he almost experienced a heart attack, he was also was fully hard. And all of that without even being touched.

His common sense went down the drain and he lunged himself at the other man, intent on eating that provocative mouth. He didn't mind the critical lack of air in his lungs. He wouldn't even mind to lose a few more of his brain cells rather than feel how Voldemort stopped their kiss harshly.

"I said … sit," the Dark Lord hissed and pushed Harry back.

"I can't...," Harry began but the single glance of the burning red eyes halted his protest.

Reluctantly, he plopped down on the bed, biting his lower lip in frustration.

"What you don't know," Voldemort began in an annoyingly even voice as if this was the best time for a lecture, "is what I promised myself thirty years ago when a similar experience nearly cost my life."

"Are you talking about that incident with Negura?" Harry asked, feeling a sharp throb of jealousy. "I don't want to be insensitive, but can we _not_ talk about him _now_?"

"Never again, I told to myself then," Voldemort continued in his musings, undisturbed by Harry's outburst. "So, how is it possible that you can make me ignore that decision as if it never existed? Your steadily growing influence on my thinking … startles me greatly."

"Oh, so that's what is bothering you," Harry sighed, rubbing a little crease between his eyebrows. "You _just_ remembered that you don't want to break your own rules. But before you tell me this, think about how many rules _I_ had to break to be here with you."

Some of the bone breaking tension left the Dark Lord's shoulders and the pale lips curved up to form a crooked smile.

"That's mostly correct. Other than that, I can't bring myself to care anymore. It's you that matters now, Harry. You in all your sinful perfection."

And as he spoke, his uninjured hand began to deftly unbutton his robes.

"W... what...?" Harry stuttered out, taken aback by that sudden change in Voldemort's behaviour. It was just a flash of momentary insecurity which was gone the moment the Dark Lord's robes were pooling at his feet. And the man stepped out of them, majestic even in his nakedness.

The pallor of his skin was striking. Though seemingly impossible, Harry could swear that his body didn't reflect, but created light. He _shined. _There was so much for his eyes to take in that he didn't even know where he should look first. In his bewilderment, he couldn't care less how improper his gaping may be.

Someone needed to redefine the terms of beauty, he thought and he wouldn't mind to do it himself because in his opinion, every man had to feel stunted, corpulent and hairy beside _him_.

Those long, perfectly shaped legs which became Harry's obsession moved a little as if inviting him to touch them and he wasn't the one to deny himself in his current state of mind. He reached out and lightly squeezed the slightly protruding kneecap before his hand fluently moved upwards to a considerably softer spot. It was the same one, which he couldn't resist groping in the Shrieking Shack, he realized and according to the shiver he felt under his fingers, Voldemort remembered it too.

"Gorgeous," he heard himself gasp as he let his palm rest there, mesmerized by the surging warmth of their skin-to-skin contact, while his eyes were already watching something else. Acting on a sudden impulse which broke through his trance, he moved his hand higher and curled his fingers around the pale, half hard member and pulled at it gently.

The Dark Lord's body instantly coiled like a snake before springing. A sharp intake of breath was followed by an anguished exhale and the long cold fingers entangled themselves in Harry's hair pulling at his scalp.

"_**Harry...,"**_ came out in a barely audible hiss.

Harry ignored the discomfort of having some of his hair plucked out and rather focused on the sight of the smooth, hard flesh in his hand. He was relieved at how pleasant it felt, for one of his biggest secret worries, which he vehemently refused to acknowledge, was the possibility of being repulsed by this.

Instead, he couldn't get enough of sounds he made him produce as he pumped his hand with growing speed. It made his own dick throb in need and he instinctively squeezed it through the towel to relieve some of the building tension. He moved his hand over and over the slowly warming flesh and occasionally rubbed the slick, pink head with a precision gained by many years of practice. It fascinated him though, how different Voldemort's now fully erected cock felt when he compared it to his own.

Even though it was about the same length as his or _maybe_ just a little longer, it was the shape and temperature that made all the difference. But, more importantly, he didn't find anything bizarre or unnatural about it. Harry was quite certain that the certain asymmetry he discovered was pretty much human and appealing. That and also the snowy colour which made it appear so … he couldn't think of a more fitting word than 'unused'.

Unable to hold back anymore, Harry sprang to his feet, dropped his towel and quickly pressed their naked, aroused bodies together. His spine nearly split in half at how incredible it felt when he purposely brought their groins together. His vocal cords made sure that Voldemort, and also every other occupant in the house, knew about that.

The Dark Lord moaned something unintelligible as Harry's wet hardness dabbled the inner side of his thigh. It took several long seconds before he managed to do as much as breathlessly hiss into his ear.

"I told you to …_hah _… _**ssss**_stay down!"

Harry just hummed 'whatever' against the little nipple he found. He was too busy licking it and biting it, while stroking and pinching the other one. At this point, he couldn't think of anything else but quenching the fire in his veins. His free hand effortlessly located their intimately rubbing erections, and he squeezed them, mashing their hard, pulsing flesh together. Their bodies convulsed wildly and a long anguished groan escaped both their throats.

"D...damn...," Harry gasped erratically. "I … think … I'm … going..."

Then the unexpected happened. The cold hand which, until that moment, furiously clutched at his hair suddenly moved to his chest and shoved him roughly backwards, making him fall on the bed.

"What the hell...?" Harry yelped as he hoisted himself on his elbows. His fogged brain failed to form any sensible thought and so he sputtered out automatically.

"Why did you...? Oh … come on! Would you stop doing that already?-! You can't keep me tamed forever!"

The haze over his senses was brutally lifted the moment he saw the yew wand in Voldemort's injured hand.

"Can't I?" The Dark Lord asked quietly. His skinny chest rose and fell rapidly and his freaky sanguine eyes gleamed with wild and uncontrolled excitement.

Harry gulped heavily when he saw the other pale hand squeeze the clearly aching hard-on and move over it slowly.

"_**Come here," **_Voldemort hissed. Harry's body froze.

"Come here!" the Dark Lord snapped irritatedly. The wand twitching in his hand broke through Harry's consternation and he slowly forced himself to sit up and move closer to him. Voldemort caught his chin and pressed his leaking flesh against his lips.

"_**Suck it,"**_ he hissed, his breath wheezy. _**"Quickly!"**_

So that's what you want, Harry thought as he felt another poke at his lips.

He should have expected it by now. If he were with some girl, he would have required it already by himself. Pity that Voldemort didn't look like someone willing to drop to his knees and suck him off.

Maybe he could try to tell him that he was far more comfortable with what they were doing before, but on the other hand, he needed to know if he could do this. Moreover, how could he ever ask the Dark Lord to repay him the favour, if he himself refused to oblige now?

Harry closed his eyes, gathered his courage and let the blunt head move past his lips. He only hoped that it won't taste gross or else he didn't know what he would do.

Large and salty … he tasted sweat and precum. Nothing particularly great, but he was absolutely certain that things could be much worse … it could always taste like a Polyjuice Potion.

The fact that the reality wasn't as bad as he feared calmed him down. Becoming slightly more confident, he decided to apply what turned him on most during a blowjob on the unsuspecting Dark Lord. Sealing his lips tightly around the head, Harry sucked on the flesh with force while slowly rubbing his tongue from the bottom to the tip and back.

"Ah … _hah_ … _**yes!**_" Voldemort shivered wildly and hissed in rapture, his head lolling back under the onslaught of pleasure.

Yes, it was great that he could do this, but unfortunately that was all for the easy part. It became much worse when Harry relaxed his lips and the Dark Lord used that to thrust into his mouth, instantly hitting the back of his throat. Harry gagged and choked, trying to draw back, but Voldemort didn't allow it. He held his head firmly in place and pressed his rigid flesh further in. Harry couldn't take it. Despite the yew wand being right beside his ear, he snapped the obtrusive hand away, then removed his mouth from the heated cock and looked up at Voldemort indignantly.

"Are you trying to kill me?-!" he coughed, rubbing his throat.

"What do you think?" Voldemort hissed curtly.

Nah, Harry wasn't the only one being mad. It didn't stop him from sputtering out though.

"Sorry, but I can't do it like that!"

"I didn't see you try."

"I said I just _can't_! If you refuse to get over it, go find someone else who can!"

Just as he said it, Harry wanted to bang his head against the wall. He regretted his words right away for they showed exactly the opposite to what he actually felt. Why did Voldemort always have to make him lose his temper like that, especially now when he really wanted to prove that he cared?

"I'm sorry. That was totally unasked for," he sighed and shook his head. "Maybe if we … tried to do this later, I could relax a bit more," he said apologetically. "All I'm asking is patience, because as you see … I don't do this on a daily basis. Actually, I've never … eh… Would you mind too much if I did it in a way which I find … more comfortable? I promise I'll try to make it as good as I can."

Voldemort said nothing, only watched him with his trademark glare. Harry was slightly surprised that he wasn't cursed already. But since the yew wand was no longer anywhere near his face, he took it that his apology was accepted. He was, however,aware how much he spoiled the mood. The Dark Lord's quickly diminishing erection was a clear evidence of that.

Without further hesitation, Harry wrapped his fingers around the shrinking member and quickly took him back into his mouth. He wasn't going to disappoint him again. Now he really wanted to show the mighty Dark Lord that he could do this far better than he imagined.

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the other man's reactions rather than impulses of his own body.

At first he moved a little closer to him, taking the half hard shaft as deep as he could while rubbing the rest of it in his palm to compensate the short coverage of his mouth.

The appreciation came in a form of a shiver and a little pleasured sigh. The fingers returned into his hair, rubbing little circles into his skin.

Harry continued to suck at it for a minute, then he removed his mouth and slowly licked the already hard dick from the bottom to the top. Once there, he pressed the tip of his tongue against the tiny pink slit, mimicking the little circular movements of the fingers.

Another shiver and sigh, only more pronounced than before.

Encouraged, Harry decided to try something new and it occurred to him that a simulation of a penetration could work quite well. He let the head slid inside his mouth without any resistance but as it retreated, he sucked at it with a force as if trying to keep it inside no matter what, while dabbing his tongue against it.

This time, the reaction was twice as violent.

Voldemort hunched over him, his breath turning into wheezy gasps like before, while his body squirmed in wild shudders. Harry moved his hand faster.

"_**Yes … **__**so good … **__**Harry..."**_ Voldemort hissed through his clenched teeth. Harry smirked and grasped the scrawny waist to stop it from trashing about so much and sped up the moves of his mouth while his other hand attended to his own rock hard shaft.

Their quickening rhythm was soon becoming just as irregular as the Dark Lord's breath. The harsh, clipped pants sounded like pained whimpers over the buzz in Harry's ears. He knew all too well what it meant.

Voldemort came with a high, keen cry just a moment later and Harry barely had a time to remove his mouth and replace it with his hand as he continued to rub him quickly through his release until the very end. Once it was over, the Dark Lord groaned low in his throat and slumped down onto the bed, his face missing the mess he just made by a couple of inches.

Harry quickly wiped the cooling trickle of cum from his shoulder into the towel. Though his need was still unsatisfied, he couldn't help and smile.

"Don't die on me," he whispered with a chuckle and ran his hand down Voldemort's bare spine towards his oh-so-inviting and perfect-beyond-description ass and back. Then his fingers turned direction to trace that elaborate tattoo of wings all over his shoulder blades.

"I'm really sorry for what I said to you before. I hope it wasn't that bad in the end, or was it?" he muttered as he leaned down to kiss each of the beautifully portrayed feathers.

Voldemort said nothing. His shivering gradually ceased and his breath slowly evened out. For a moment, it appeared that he fell asleep.

"Tom?" Harry whispered, raising his lips from his skin and waiting until the Dark Lord finally turned his head to look at him, his eyes strangely clouded.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, hoping to extract some answer from his atypically quiet lover. He hadn't heard anything of the sort before, but could a strong orgasm turn a wizard mute? Maybe as a result of some incidental magic? Before he could come up with some theory, Voldemort exhaled loudly, closed his eyes and softly hissed.

"_**Yes."**_

Great. So he wasn't mute. But not very talkative either. What a strange difference when Harry compared this to his previous experiences with women. Girls loved to talk after sex. Sharing their feelings and opinions seemed to be just as important as the act itself. However, now that he started to think about it, he realized that he too had problems with expressing himself after he orgasmed. Which, when applied to this situation, explained many things. Voldemort simply didn't feel a need to communicate. Apparently, the stronger was the enjoyment, the less it needed to be discussed. Harry took the lack of his words as a compliment and stopped his questioning in order to pay more attention to that piece of art on Voldemort's back.

"I really love those wings," he whispered against his skin about a minute later. "You never told me what's their purpose … though, you could simply have them to look irresistible."

The Dark Lord wagged his shoulders a little and Harry realized with amusement that his breath had to tickle him.

"You're speaking as if you don't know what are wings for, Harry," Voldemort smirked, and Harry grinned back at him as he noticed that he was coming back to senses.

"Er … for flying?"

He meant it as a joke and so he was surprised when Voldemort nodded.

"Exactly. For flying."

Harry raised his head, staring at him in disbelief.

"Are you serious? _This_ is what allows you to fly? I mean fly _without_ a broom?"

"Yes," the Dark Lord replied softly and turned on his back so he could take a better look at Harry. "As the most powerful magician, I don't need to break the laws of magic. I am merely bending them according to my wishes. As you surely know, subjects can't fly. However, the body can be viewed as an object too, when bewitched properly. The 'tattoo' as you call it is merely a projection of my own magic into my skin which - as an object - is a container of my body. It allows me to fly whenever I need – even without a wand."

Harry blinked.

"So it's only your skin that is flying and it's dragging the 'rest of you' along..."

Voldemort's thin lips curled up into a small smile.

"I would never use this particular explanation … but I admit you see the basic principle correctly."

"Well, that's very inventive of you…," Harry mused and when he saw a curiously raised hairless eyebrow, he quickly added. "I mean, of course that you're extraordinarily inventive and clever and all that stuff. I only find it surprising that no one ever considered it from the same point of view before … which reminds me... Oh Merlin! Did Snape also have wings?-!"

Voldemort produced a strange noise which could be something between a chuckle and a snort.

"Very likely," he said then.

"Ooooh, no!" Harry buried his face in the sheets. "Snape with wings … I can't stand that mental image!" he muttered, stifling his laugh.

A cold hand gently stroked the back of his neck and Harry raised his head, openly smiling now.

"If I knew this before, every encounter with him would be … you know … like one hundred percent easier. Because...," another fit of laughter shook his body, "knowing that would have kinda damaged his carefully build image of bitter and pedantic bully."

"And the fact that I have the wings doesn't damage my image?" Voldemort asked quietly, his hand moving upward to stroke Harry's cheek.

Harry hesitated and then he shook his head.

"No," he said and lay beside him, their faces inches apart. "Snape wasn't anything like you. He wasn't so … ethereal."

"Ethereal...," Voldemort whispered, his red eyes glowing slightly as he slowly leaned to Harry and their lips lightly brushed. It was a brief, yet the most emotive kiss they shared until now.

"Tom...," Harry whispered as the cool, featherlight touch of lips moved down along his jaw. Suddenly, he felt so tempted to say it, just open his mouth and tell him about his feelings, which grew in intensity with his every heartbeat. Only Voldemort was faster.

"Harry... I've never imagined that kissing can feel like this … inducing such a warmth inside...," the Dark Lord hissed softly before their lips touched again and he delved his tongue inside the Harry's soft mouth and flicked it lightly against its active counterpart.

"Anyway, you've pleased me so much, Harry," he continued after that. "If I knew of your hidden talent, I would be dreaming of your tongue instead of your throat."

"You really … think that?" Harry gasped, his face gaining more colour.

"Yes," the Dark Lord breathed out and lay his hollow cheek against Harry's warm one, whispering into his ear. "I feel very generous right now."

The cold hand touched Harry's chest and slowly moved down towards his belly.

Harry's breath escalated as the chilling thumb rubbed and dipped in his navel and then returned to its downward path.

"You may ask a favour," Voldemort said and his cold fingers hesitantly skimmed over Harry's once again hardening member. Harry almost choked on his heart at the feeling of it. His hips rose from the bed, following the retreating hand like a magnet.

The Dark Lord raised his head and looked into his bewildered face.

"What do you want, Harry?" he asked, removing his hand completely, making Harry bit his lip to stifle a protest.

"Tell me," he insisted.

Harry struggled to think rationally. He couldn't believe this was really happening. He wanted him so … so much. Anything would be fine. The only thing which mattered was...

"What's the limit of what I can ask?"

The Dark Lord snorted at that.

"I didn't mention any limit."

Too bad. Harry naturally knew what he wanted to do the most but there was no way in hell Voldemort would ever agree to... No, it was a way too soon. He would probably kill him even for suggesting it … or wouldn't he? Harry nervously licked his lips. He could play it safe … he _should_ play it safe and stop thinking about... _that_.

"You don't want anything?" Voldemort asked him teasingly. Whatever he saw of Harry's turmoil, he apparently found it amusing.

Harry quickly decided to compromise his needs before Voldemort could change his mind.

"I want," he gasped, squeezing his own palm squeezing his half hard cock lightly, "… your mouth … on me..."

"Hmmm, not feeling very modest, are you Harry?" Voldemort whispered. "I've expected as much. Very well, since I offered it, I shall oblige..."

His reaction made Harry wonder if he would answer it the same if he voiced … the other option. Harry sighed and shook his head. It didn't matter now, he wanted to enjoy this.

The cool lips descended on his neck and slowly began to move down. Voldemort renewed their eye contact every now and then, moving exactly in the direction Harry wanted the most, applying just the right pressure with his lips and teeth, making each place he touched burn delightfully. The Dark Lord paid meticulous attention to his nipples. The chilling touch mixed with a warm breath, the soft gliding lips combined with the rough surface of his restless tongue, all that contrast made Harry's body ache for more. Voldemort moved his head lower, tasting Harry's quickly rising and falling navel and the young man was no longer able to hold back whimpers of pure bliss. The air seemed to be too heavy to breathe.

"Please … _**more**_!"

"_**More**_," Voldemort hissed and slipped his hand between Harry's thighs, pressing the base of his palm against Harry's sack and lightly tugging at his hard member.

"Yes! Ooooh, Lord!" Harry moaned at the cool, inciting touch.

The pleasure which rushed through his every single nerve was too perfect to be real.

"You can call me that more often," the cold voice whispered against his skin and Harry looked down and stared at him in a foggy astonishment, seeing him grab his hips firmly and hold them in place as he leaned down to his trembling erection.

Incredulity washed over the haze of delight.

He couldn't possibly be preparing to do … that! Or could he?

Harry's whole body jerked as he saw and instantly felt how the pink tongue lightly dip into the moist tip of his reddened arousal.

"Tom!" he choked and bucked his hips forcefully upward. He slipped from Voldemort's grasp, reaching his face and smearing it with precum.

Harry stiffened in apprehension of the latter's reaction.

The Dark Lord's expression remained impassive, his eyes on Harry even when his long bony forefinger reached up and wiped away all the milky liquid from the equally colored cheek. Bringing it to his lips he slowly licked it clean. And Harry was lost.

"Uh …huh ... hurry!" he stammered, unable to say a plain sentence as the boiling pressure inside him reached the new heights.

The Dark Lord didn't seem to take a pity on him yet as he looked down at his agonized member longing for more attention. His cold finger started to stoke it slowly and Harry's head instantly fell back in the sweaty sheets.

"Aaaahhhh…"

"You have a nice taste, Harry," Voldemort whispered quietly after few moments of deliberate, pleasurable torture. He was still touching him only by a tip of his cold forefinger.

Harry repeatedly thrust his hips up, desperate for more friction.

"_**Pleasssse…,**_" he hissed in a long moan.

"Patience, Harry," the Dark Lord said with a chuckle. "I trust that now you know how very frustrating it is … to be asked to wait while being in this state..."

Harry merely groaned again but the Dark Lord seemed to understand him without words as he moved once again above Harry's most private parts. He caressed the slim hips lightly before he let his healthy hand rest on the burning skin.

"You've grown a lot," he spoke softly, adoringly. "What a sight..."

All Harry's fingers curled in tension, excitement running up and down his spine as he kept watching him out of the corner of an eye, flushed and breathless, impatiently waiting for another touch.

But the Dark Lord just glanced at him, a wicked glint in his eyes. Then, without any warning he graciously bend his long spine and let his head sink down, taking whole Harry's stiff cock into his mouth. Harry, completely unprepared for this, screamed his throat raw.

His fingers tore the sheets apart as his body arched under that heavenly sensation. The soft press of Voldemort's cold lips and gentle scraping of his teeth but most of all the light pressure of his throat made Harry thrust vigorously into that heated and relaxed gorge. The muscles tightened around his shaft as Voldemort fought his gagging reflex, nonetheless he made no attempt to pull away. Harry cursed, instantly losing himself in the sensation.

It was all too fast, he could feel the end coming already, though he wished he could feel this forever, he was powerless to hold back. After several forceful thrusts Voldemort firmly grabbed his thigh and pinned him down and then sucked him hard, forcing an instant climax. Every muscle in Harry's body convulsed as he came with another throat ripping scream.

And the Dark Lord drank it with pleasure, multiplying the potency of Harry's release, which was coming in waves, each one higher than the previous.

Finally his muscles began to relax and the stillness prevailed, filling Harry with an overwhelming feeling of warmth. Breathing heavily, he fell back in sweaty blankets and tried to refill his burning lungs with pleasantly cool air.

Minutes later his brain cells gradually started to work again and he forced his tired eyes to open. Voldemort sat beside him, silent, deep in thought.

"You didn't enjoy it very much, did you?" he managed to ask hoarsely.

The Dark Lord looked at him, once again amused.

"Quite the opposite. I found it unexpectedly pleasant. The way you look, the way you taste and your fierce responsiveness, all of that is worth a compliment. Moreover, I had no idea I can make a person scream in pleasure instead of pain … and even less I expected that it can be equally satisfying."

"You can do this to me whenever you'll feel a need to hear someone screaming," Harry said and smiled a little and the other man smiled back at him, a true mirth in his eyes.

"By the way … is it a secret, or can you tell me who taught you to do this?"

Harry didn't ask this merely out of curiosity. He had to admit that he was somewhat jealous of a man who did that to him and he really wished that Voldemort wouldn't mention a name of a certain vampire.

"Oh, Harry," the Dark Lord chuckled and ran his fingers over Harry's sweaty bonce. "It was all here. Your wild imagination is certainly a good source of inspiration."

That was a surprise.

"Really? It really has nothing to do with _him_? He never...?"

The relaxed muscles on Voldemort's neck tightened and he looked away from him.

"Once," he finally spoke, his lips barely moving. "Only once. It happened shortly before that incident..." The pale hand unconsciously touched the awful scar at the base of his throat. The briefest shudder was all the Dark Lord allowed Harry to see.

"Oh," Harry whispered and bit his lower lip.

Voldemort was very still for some time. When he finally turned back to Harry, he spoke in a bland voice.

"He was my best right-hand man – most devoted, successful, inventive and ruthless. I used to praise him and _admire_ him … yes. And he knew … he knew all the time how much he attracted me and he didn't hesitate to use that weakness of mine. One night after another successful raid he came to me and I remember thinking that he just wanted to ask a reward for his devoted service. He approached me as always, dropped to his knees and … ah … I thought he was about to kiss the hem of my robes like he always did, but … I was wrong."

Harry bit his lip harder and Voldemort after a short pause continued.

"Naturally, after such an experience I was rather susceptible to his suggestions. I accepted that he could provide me more of his … services the next day," he continued, his voice like an ice. "You know what happened then. My cravings and curiosity nearly cost my life. That's why I've sworn never to submit to my desires again. It was a logical decision at that time … but now... when I'm here with you, I want to know what I've missed."

"And do you want to know it now or later?" Harry asked with a small smile as he pulled him closer and kissed his lips.

"A little later," Voldemort whispered softly, his eyes glittering like rubies.

Then his long, spidery fingers curled around the locket, however, the gesture was different from before. There was no malice in his face and his palm didn't clutch it forcefully.

"I've never told you what I think of your … gift. The Salazar's locket is an object of immeasurable value to me," he said quietly. "I am fully aware that I wouldn't lay my hand on it again if you weren't so preposterously courageous and impudent that it borders with insanity. I do ... appreciate that you haven't ceased to be a rash and hotheaded Gryffindor, Harry."

Harry lay his head on the bare chest, stifling his laugh. The Dark Lord couldn't simply say 'thank you'. He preferred to spend minutes elaborating in a complicated pattern how to precisely express himself rather than to use those two words.

"You're welcome," he said, still smiling. "I'm glad you like it."

"I liked all your presents, Harry."

Harry's smile grew wider and wider, experiencing such a happiness that he hadn't felt for a really long time. And when he was kissing him again, he was sure that his little chest monster finally found its peace.

xxxxx

_Paris, Notre-Dame cathedral_

_1__st__ January 2001, 0:48_

Muggles. So many of them were outside of their safe homes, walking about the streets, provoking his thirst. They'd travelled such a long way only to find out that they had arrived late. Nestor was incensed and he wanted to improve his ill humour with few drops of sweet, warm human blood.

However, first of all he needed to discover if his dear Leader was in favour of that idea. Dragomir ... he was so perfect even when he simply stood there, slightly leaning against a statue of some gargoyle, his face grim as he silently listened to Gaston's lament over the cold body of his dead wife.

Nestor wondered if it was a good moment to disturb him now. He didn't want to... No, Dragomir had to be thinking of his own wife now. The wife which he, Nestor, killed in his attempt to revenge Alcander the Atrocious. He became Alcander's follower for only one reason - to obtain more power. He only organized the revenge to get all of his previous comrades on his side so he could become the next dark lord. Naturally, he didn't expect to die shortly after that... Oh yes, his mortal life was very ironic. Anyway, the first hundred years in Dragomir's service were mostly unpleasant. But the Leader slowly started to forget how much his wife meant for him as he was more and more engrossed in his noble task. And Nestor was immensely glad for it, for it meant he was almost forgiven...

"Tell me about everything what happened," Dragomir spoke in French to the vampire who brought Leroy's corpse. It had to be one of Gaston's previous servant's, but Nestor didn't know him personally. He snorted to himself. He didn't really care about what happened. He wanted to be sent on the hunt already.

However, something was wrong with the Leader. Knowing him for all those hundreds of years, he noticed it easily. He appeared emotionless but Nestor could detect the pretence. The way Leaders' hand clutched on the stone, the way he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment … Nestor didn't like the gestures, especially when the Leader made no comments to what he was told.

When he finally spoke, his voice was cold.

"Gaston, go bury your wife. There will be no infinity with her by your side. There's nothing you can do for her anymore and you can thank Potter for that. Nestor, you … come closer."

"I want to kill that brat!" Gaston sputtered out but Nestor stopped him with a quick gesture. "No, Potter is mine, is that correct my Leader?"

"So why is he still alive?" Gaston snarled in rage, baring his teeth.

"My Leader?" Nestor asked, almost hoping that Dragomir would let him go hunt the young wizard right now.

"I have my plans with Potter, Nestor. You, Gaston, have received a direct order. Why are you still here?"

Gaston snarled something more under his breath, but raised the stiffening body and finally left them, followed by his former servant.

"Come closer," Negura whispered again, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance and Nestor, thrilled by the invitation, approached him.

"We are not going to hunt Voldemort and that boy?" he asked.

"Do you know where are they hiding, Nestor?" Dragomir said quietly, still watching the sky enlightened by fireworks.

"I can find them … for you," Nestor replied.

"No, there's no time," the Leader said in a solemn voice and finally turned his deep, navy eyes to him. "Because Voldemort is searching for a way to destroy me."

"That is not possible, my Leader," Nestor said without a doubt.

"I'm not so certain. Not now when he has Potter on his side. I underestimated him."

"Potter? That pathetic boy? What threat could he pose to you, Dragomir?-!" Nestor chuckled in disbelief.

Dragomir didn't react to that outburst.

"Tonight, Potter attacked my sole weakness, Nestor. He managed to obtain something … potentially dangerous to me. That _boy_ must die and I would prefer if it happened before Voldemort joins my troops."

Nestor couldn't believe it. According to his own observations, Potter was rather harmless. But he managed to ask:

"What's your plan, my Leader?"

"I will attack his weakness in return."

"My Leader?"

"Potter's friends in the … _Burrow_, Nestor. We will kill some of them and take a hostage. When under such pressure, Potter will do anything I ask him. He will become my perfect weapon against Voldemort."

Nestor was - surprised at least. As he remembered, Dragomir used this strategy only several times and exclusively against the dark lords. Never before had he gone so far because of some irrelevant individuals. It was a great shift in his thinking. Or did he really feel that threatened? It was very hard to believe that. On the other hand, Nestor couldn't say he was disappointed. It seemed that he will be tasting some high-quality blood tonight.

"I cannot wait, Dragomir," he whispered, gently took his hand and kissed his fingers. "Shall we leave?"

The navy eyes located his grey ones and his master resolutely shook his head.

"Not so fast, Nestor. There is one more thing..."

He raised his hand and carefully pulled the tiny silver ring from his little finger.

"I want you to take a care of this. Protect it the best you can."

Nestor gasped as his beloved Leader seized his hand and lay the ring on his opened palm.

"Isn't this Leontina's ring?" he asked quietly in an astonished voice.

"It's my wife's wedding ring. Leontina was merely keeping it safe for me. That task is up to you now."

Nestor was amazed … and wary.

He _killed_ his wife. Dragomir couldn't just disregard that.

"You're the last one, Nestor, who's been with me since the very beginning. You're the only one aside me, who still remembers her soft, innocent, angelic face... I don't want you to forget her, ever! I may have been hating you immensely for taking her away from me … but it's so long ago. Nearly four centuries of your devoted service proved your worthiness. You can keep it."

"I feel immensely honoured, my Leader. I'll protect it with my sole existence," Nestor said in a moved voice.

And then the impossible happened. The soft lips touched his forehead for a fleeting moment.

He was _kissed_ by his _Leader_. Who said that the vampires can't have heaven on earth?

"That's all I ask," Dragomir said and disappeared in the shadows. After the briefest hesitation Nestor devotedly followed him.

_**R&R**_

_***Parseltongue**_


	12. Change of heart, part 2

**Author's note:** I'd like to apologize to my readers for my inexcusable lateness. Also, my beta reader deserves a medal for her infinite patience.

Rating of this chapter: M

xxxxx

**Change of Heart, part II**

xxxxx

_Paris, the suburb_

_1__st__ January 2001, 3:15_

xxxxx

The bedroom was quiet and still, except for the occasional crack of an ember in the fireplace and barely perceptible breaths of two people. A feeble scent of pine, lavender and sweat hung lightly in the air. It was sweet in its bitterness, reminding Harry of the other tastes he tried out for the first time tonight. Honestly, he couldn't understand why he was so fazed about the whole thing before. He felt no regret at all – though he probably should. He wasn't disgusted with himself in the slightest, though his friends would surely see it differently. And all of that because of that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest, which chased away his doubts and qualms. Instead of worrying, he watched Tom's porcelain skin, the way the locket rose and fell on his chest, the way he clenched his jaws slightly every now and then...

Apparently, he wasn't the only one awake. Voldemort was lying on his back, gazing at the ceiling, silent and contemplative, and Harry, giving in to his desire to touch him again, fully turned to him and lightly grazed his fingers over his bony shoulder. The cool, soft skin shivered slightly at the warm contact.

"Can't sleep?" he muttered in a sleepy voice.

The Dark Lord looked at him, his deep red eyes slightly glassy.

Just being watched by him sent Harry's heart racing. Usually, people tended to suffer a heart-attack under that stare, however their reasons principally differed from his. Harry couldn't resist a small smile.

He waited few more seconds for Voldemort to answer him, but as the man didn't, Harry moved closer to him and wound his arm around his bare chest.

"I guess you're making plans for how to deal with Negura for good," he suggested.

Finally, the Dark Lord let out a soft sigh of resignation. Though he was hiding it very well, Harry could still feel how he pressed himself closer, as if longing for more of his warmth. That simple action made Harry's smile grow wider and he quickly decided to conceal it by mapping the hard cliff of Tom's jaw with feather light kisses.

"I've been making those plans for decades, but to no avail," Voldemort suddenly said. "You had seen the poor result of my endeavour and pain back in the basement of your precious Order. Though defeated, I've learned my lesson. It seems that I cannot destroy him with my magic, no matter how extraordinary I am. I might have had a better chance with the Elder Wand, but since Umbridge still keeps it secure under Negura's direct supervision, there is virtually no chance to obtain it."

Harry raised his head a little and asked.

"And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"You're talking only about yourself. I can help you, dammit! I want to help!"

Voldemort raised his hairless eyebrow a little.

"Would you go steal the Elder wand for me, Harry? I know very well your occasional suicidal tendencies, but..."

"Come on! You know what I mean," Harry interrupted him with a disgruntled sigh and sank back onto the pillow.

"Negura is mine to kill," Voldemort said plainly.

"And that's the problem. He's dead already – or _undead_, if you want. Nevertheless, haven't you just said that he cannot be defeat just like that? I suggest to look at LeRoy's memory first and leave further scheming for later."

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort let out an irritated snort.

"The memory's practically useless now," he hissed. "Yes, it may confirm our assumptions about him having a Horcrux, but even if they are correct, we can no longer use that knowledge against him."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, but it took him only a moment to puzzle out the source of the Dark Lord's vexation.

"I guess we cannot do much because he knows," he said. "He knows what we are after, right?"

"_Exactly!" _Voldemort cried out. "I planned to do this _without _Negura knowing _for a reason_! LeRoy's betrayal made the whole mission pointless."

Harry didn't know how to explain him, that he could hardly expect something else from a woman who detested him more than the murderer of her own husband. But he chose to say something else aloud instead.

"In case the memory contains information of the Horcrux's origin, appearance and protection, I don't think it's correct to say that the mission was entirely unsuccessful. Those would be quite valuable findings, wouldn't they?"

Voldemort's indignation seemed to grow regardless of Harry's attempts to mollify him.

"Imagine I knew you were attacking my Horcruxes three years ago," he hissed icily. "How far do you think you would get? I would make it impossible for you to reach the single one of my treasures! You wouldn't stand a chance!"

"That's true," Harry nodded and scratched his scar. "Well, but unlike you I'm not the greatest wizard alive, right? Given a time, you can break through even the most complex protective enchantments, can't you?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed crimson in the dark.

"That's not a general rule. There are few curses with a so-called 'indelible effect'. Usually, you have to kill the magician who cast it in order to remove the curse's action."

Harry gasped for breath.

"But if Negura's using it, there's no way out of that vicious circle! You can't kill him without destroying the Horcrux and you can't destroy the Horcrux without killing him!"

He closed his eyes, sighing in defeat.

"We're so screwed."

Voldemort watched him so intensely that Harry could feel it even through his closed eyelids. However, when he spoke again, his voice was not as biting as it had been before.

"Luckily, the usage of such curses is limited for they can become very debilitating after some time. Even I didn't use them to protect my Horcruxes – though the potion I put into the basin with this locket had, in fact, an irreversible effect."

Harry looked up, seeing Voldemort gently caress the pendant on his chest before turning to him again. "Speaking of which..."

"Irreversible for a human," Harry breathed out, feeling a sudden bitterness as he remembered both Dumbledore and Kreacher.

The Dark Lord looked at him curiously.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," Harry shook his head and sighed. "Anyway, I see you've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"

"I can hardly ignore this matter since it concerns the possible _end_ of _my_ existence!" Voldemort hissed venomously. "And yours as well."

"So what? I'm quite used to live with that perspective," Harry retorted and hoisted himself on his elbows. He was mad at himself, because his thoughts were bringing him back to the cave where Dumbledore was pleading him for death while he was the one slowly killing him. If he could choose one memory which he didn't want to have anymore, it would be that one without a doubt.

"Well, I'm _not_. Only a rash Gryffindor like you would risk everything without thinking!" Voldemort hissed back.

"Great! Perfect! If you're so afraid, why don't you go into hiding then!" Harry snapped.

"You _dare_ to suggest that the great Lord Voldemort would show fear to his enemy?-! I am the most powerful wizard of all! I have no reason to hide myself!"

The Dark Lord rose from the bed, his fragile chest heaving vehemently as his breathing grew heavier, his eyes stabbing Harry like a daggers.

"And yet you were hiding from me for past three years!" Harry countered, eliciting a furious cry from Voldemort.

He lunged himself at Harry, but before he could immobilize him with his magic, Harry managed to wrench himself from his grasp. With his free hand, he reached out for the back of Voldemort's head, holding him in place as kissed his mouth greedily. The body on top of him squirmed as if it belonged to an agitated snake rather than a human. Voldemort tried to pull away while reaching for his wand, but Harry by miracle caught it first and … threw it away.

The older wizard gave out a yell of plain rage but Harry didn't release his crushing hold on him. He knew he was going lose anyway and so he decided to enjoy it while he could. Planting numerous kisses anywhere he could reach, whispering breathless words of adoration, Harry loosened his clutch and let his hands glide over the soft skin, feeling the hollows between each rib of the emaciated trunk and little bumps of joints of the long spine. He waited for Voldemort to shove him off and punish him, but to his surprise, the previous fiery resistance withered. Finding a vent for his anger in furious kisses, scratches and bites, the Dark Lord gave into his lust instead of his wrath. His cold lips were forceful, giving Harry's own pair brutal treatment.

Harry was the one who was squirming now as the cold fingers squeezed his biceps, testing the power of his muscles before moving over his shoulder to his chest, scratching his pectorals. Among the occasional bites, Voldemort was hissing short, incomprehensible syllables into Harry's ear, his gaunt body shaking almost uncontrollably. And as Harry listened to him, feeling his quick, tepid breath, smelling and tasting his skin, he was suddenly overtaken an urge to make it more gentle, regardless of his needs which prompted him to keep that pace and progress. He grazed his lips over the little junction at the base of Voldemort's neck and whispered.

"You're so beautiful when you're angry."

The Dark Lord froze. He raised his head, his cat-like eyes boring into Harry's green one.

They sat like that for some time, stark naked, the Dark Lord on top of him while Harry was holding him as close as possible. The older wizard seemed fascinated by something but it took him some time before he asked that.

"Is that how you see me now?" he asked in wonder.

"Yes."

It didn't even occur to Harry to deny it.

The pale lips moved to say something, but before any words could escape them, Tom obviously changed his mind and leaned down to kiss Harry. The brief touch of those chilling lips was a complete opposite to the previous unleash of passion. It was somewhat insecure, but Harry doubted he could receive anything better. It was impossible not to repay him with the same and more.

Swimming in the sea of happiness, Harry disregarded the cold hand on his chest until it was forcefully shoved away.

"Pick up your wand," Voldemort told him suddenly and rose from the bed, retrieving his own from the ground.

"What?-!"

Harry was lying on his back, gaping at Voldemort and frantically thinking of what he had done wrong.

"I said pick up your wand!" the Dark Lord hissed, summoning his robes.

"Why?" Harry asked indignantly. He wondered what was that about. Had Voldemort decided to still punish him? What would he do?

The older wizard didn't answer. He looked over the room, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Where's your wand, boy?"

"Er … in the bathroom … I think," Harry said as he scrambled out of the bed. "But you didn't answer me first."

"In the bathroom?-!" Voldemort chuckled incredulously. "And what would you do if Negura stood at the door right now?-!"

"I don't think that having my wand would help me much against him," Harry shrugged and fastened a towel around his waist. He wasn't overly shy or something, but, you know, Voldemort was already dressed as well.

"I see," the Dark Lord hissed softly and with the flick of his wand the alder wand came flying towards him.

He handed it over to Harry, watching him patronizingly.

"Don't clutch it so hard in your palm. You limit the movement of your wrist which imperfects your magic."

Harry's mouth slackened a bit. Had Voldemort just given him a tip on how to improve his magical skills? On the other hand, Harry remembered that he suggested it some time ago.

"Oh, okay," Harry nodded and did as he was told, but the handle didn't feel right in his hand. He was worried that he might drop it accidentally as it loosely dangled between his fingers.

"That's better," the Dark Lord nodded, making Harry abandon all his critical comments.

"Now I want you to vanish that," the older wizard said and pointed at the wall separating the bedroom from the living room.

Harry looked at him incredulously and took an unwilling step backward.

"Are you joking? How am I supposed to do that?"

"Don't you know any vanishing spells, Harry?" Voldemort smirked, mirth shining through his gleaming eyes.

"Of course I do! But a wall is not rubbish left over from potion making! This is insane!"

"Insane you say," Voldemort whispered and raised his yew wand.

"_Evanesco,"_ he hissed, and the next second the wall was gone as if it never existed.

Harry blinked once, twice, and then he corrected himself.

"Insane for me at least."

"_Appareo!"_ Voldemort hissed and with a flick of his wand the wall was back, untouched.

Harry was simply astonished by the effortlessness with which Voldemort dispatched a ton of bricks and plaster only to bring it back the next second.

"Do it," the Dark Lord said, his voice disallowing any argument.

For a second Harry mused if Voldemort really didn't understand that they were on entirely different magical levels. It seemed more likely that he just wanted to see his failure, just like Snape used to do, and Harry could only hope that it wasn't the case.

"Fine, I'll try," he sighed and raised the wand. Honestly, he really couldn't see a meaning in this.

"_Evanesco,"_ he said and the alder wand twitched in his hand in a protest. The whole wall swayed, but remained in place. The only apparent result of his attempt was a two feet wide hole in the middle of it. Seeing that, Harry already prepared himself to hear a mocking voice telling him that he was hopeless case. But Voldemort said nothing like that.

He stepped closer to him, so close that their bodies were almost touching and then he lightly attached his lips to Harry's temple.

"Do you want to know why you didn't succeed?" he asked, his cold voice having a supple quality. Harry only shook his head, recovering from his surprise.

"Because I'm not powerful enough?" he finally said when he composed himself enough. "Look, I'm tired. Can't we leave this for later?"

"No!" Voldemort snapped, seized his chin and looked into his eyes. "That freak is after you too, Potter! You must improve _now _or else it will be too late! Besides, your failure has nothing to do with your powers, which are rather significant."

"So, what did I do wrong?" Harry asked, secretly gratified that Voldemort acknowledged his potential even though he didn't show him anything yet.

"You should have asked what the teachers in Hogwarts did wrong, but … very well, let's start from the beginning," Voldemort replied as he let go of his chin.

"You're a repressed wizard, Harry," he said, taking the seat on the bed, "limited by your own estimation of your qualities. This is one of the things which I wanted to change in the education of young magicians in Hogwarts. Children must be taught first how to do the magic properly and only then learn how to effectively control it. Your problem is that you've learned the second part far better than the first one."

"Did I?" Harry asked, biting in his tongue. It was not the right moment to unleash a scathing critique of the Dark Lord's reforms in Hogwarts. Still, he wished he could explain how wrong Voldemort was about his ideas.

"Yes," the Dark Lord hissed softly. "There is, however, one exception which I find rather … captivating."

"What exception?"

"Your Patronus Charm. They say you've learned to produce a corporeal Patronus in your third year."

Harry was amazed how well Voldemort seemed to be informed about his achievements.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"That's certainly an unusual skill for someone of such a young age," the Dark Lord pointed out.

"Professor Lupin taught me that because I needed a protection from the Dementors," Harry shrugged.

"So you were trying that spell over and over again until you succeeded?"

"No, not really," Harry said hesitantly and came to sit beside him. "Actually, I had seen myself doing it."

Voldemort hid his surprise well. His eyes located Harry's and then an understanding flashed in them.

"A Time-Turner," he said quietly.

"Yeah, exactly. Me from the future saved myself, Hermione and Sirius from a horde of Dementors. It took me some time before I realized that, because I thought first that it was my dad who was saving us. But that was … impossible."

"Yes, it makes a perfect sense now," Voldemort quickly said, suddenly appearing uncomfortable.

"What makes sense?"

"It explains why you were able to produce it. If you had seen yourself, you didn't have to question your abilities, because you _knew_ you could do it. There was no mental block holding you back from the success."

Harry stared at him, his mouth slacking.

"You..." he began and then coughed to clear his throat. "You think that it's all in my head, don't you? That I don't believe in myself."

"You do believe in yourself as a man, Harry, but not as a wizard."

"That's not true!" Harry yelped and jumped on his feet.

"Isn't it?" Voldemort asked pointedly and his lips curled into a tiny smile. "When I asked you to perform the vanishing spell, you said 'I'll try', not 'I'll do it.' You doubted yourself, don't deny it."

"Fine... Fine! I _can_ do it then!" Harry shouted and turned towards the wall, fuming in anger so much that he missed a genuine smile on the Dark Lord's face. Glaring at the plaster as if he saw there Umbridge's face, Harry resolutely raised his wand.

"_Evanesco!"_ he roared, eager to prove that he was not repressed or whatever Voldemort thought about him.

The light erupted from the tip of his wand. It never did for this spell before - and the next moment the wall was crumbling. The large hole Harry created with the spell unhinged its structural integrity and soon nothing was left of it, only a heap of rubble.

"I guess I overdid it a bit," he said then, regaining his calm while watching the debris.

"No fear. It was actually much better than before, Harry. Only you held your wand wrongly again," Voldemort said smugly. "Repair it now," he added.

If there was one general rule which applied to magicians as well as to Muggles, it was that mending something back together was a way more difficult than destroying it.

Harry felt like he was finishing a Marathon, when the last bricks finally returned to their original place.

"Good. Goyle needed two days to do what you managed in eight minutes."

Harry turned to him with an exhausted expression, but he welcomed the praise.

"In addition, his wall weren't solid at all. It crumbled apart the other day, half-burying Wormtail beneath it."

"Oh, I hope it hurt a lot," Harry noted, wheedling another smile out of his companion.

"Anyway, you need to explore your potential further," Voldemort continued. "Practice as often as you can, give yourself seemingly impossible tasks, push yourself to your _real_ limits to accomplish now, come here."

"Yeah, I have to work on this. I haven't even vanished the whole wall yet," Harry said and sat down beside him again. The Dark Lord, however, didn't care for his rant and kissed him teasingly. His cool tongue nudged against Harry's lips and just as he opened them for him, he drew back.

"That wasn't my expectation. I wanted to show you one more thing," Voldemort said as they parted, still smiling, and Harry could only think of how much he loved to see him like that.

"What is it?" he whispered and leaned in to steal another kiss. He succeeded and even managed to win access to that soft, wet mouth. After a minute Tom slowly pulled away.

"Do you remember the book you were reading back in the Shrieking Shack? It was supposed to teach you this."

He conjured up a small candle, placed it on the sheets between them and fired it up.

"This is a trick how to learn to control the flow of your magic," he explained as he pointed the tip of his wand at the flame. "It's imperative for you to learn to vary the amount of magic for every spell you use in order to gain efficiency."

"And how can that candle help me?"

"Sit back, Harry," Voldemort said and Harry moved away just before the flame suddenly exploded, reaching the ceiling, scalding it. The Dark Lord remained perfectly composed and as he continued in his explanations, the flame changed its intensity, colour and shape.

"Apparently, you weren't able to release the necessary amount of magic, but this shall teach you how to do it. You need to learn to _feel_ your magic. You must feel it at your fingertips, you must be aware of how much you are allowed to channel through the wand to reach the best effect."

"Right, but how are you doing it? What kind of spell it is?" Harry asked, watching the blaze take the shape of snakes and dragons. It kind of reminded him the Fiendfyre and Harry shuddered at the thought.

"It's not a spell," Voldemort whispered and put the wand away, making the flame shrink instantly. "You merely saw my magic affect the flames accordingly to my will. Now it's your turn to try to do the same."

Harry still didn't get how it was done, but decided to give it a try anyway. He aimed the tip of his wand at the candle, concentrating on his wish to enlarge the flame.

After a few minutes and many unsuccessful attempts later he put the wand away and shook his head.

"It's not working."

"You must feel your magic," Voldemort insisted.

"What is it supposed to feel like?"

"Usually like a pleasant warmth flowing down your arm, tingling at your fingertips. The unforgivable curses are know to produce this feeling most intensely."

Just as he said it, Harry suddenly recalled how he cast the Imperio Curse at the goblin at the Gringotts and later on the Cruciatus Curse at Amycus at Hogwarts. In both cases he experienced exactly what Voldemort described.

"All right. I can imagine it now. What next?"

"Start with a nonverbal spell and then focus on the feeling in your wand hand."

"Is there a special spell which I should use?"

"No. Remember, this is not about the magic itself..."

"...but about the feeling of it. Yeah, I get it now," Harry nodded and raised the wand again, quickly picking up the Engorgement Charm, which should work just fine with the flame. The good thing was that nonverbal spells no longer represented a problem for him. His unfinished Auror training was beneficial after all.

He flicked his wand, turning the candle into a blazing torch. However, after few minutes he still felt no noticeable change in his hand and as his disappointment peaked, he looked at Voldemort who was watching him intently.

"I must be making some mistake. It still doesn't work," he sighed and glanced aside.

Once he did it, he registered a movement by the corner of an eye and quickly looked back. Voldemort was no longer on the opposite side, but behind him, kneeling down, pressing his front to his back, the cool lips tickling his ear.

"Let me help you," he hissed softly and the following moment his cold hand enveloped Harry's warmer one. Harry instinctively clutched the wand more firmly in his palm. Voldemort's fingers curled around his own and he mentally cursed that his body was on fire the moment Tom touched him, not to mention that his other, injured and bandaged hand began to lightly stroke his belly. It seemed to him that the lesson was going to be over soon enough.

"Don't do anything, just watch," were the next words he heard and then something like an electric current ran through his wand hand.

"Usually this is impossible to do without experiencing the pain, but since you shared your magic with me … it makes us _compatible_," Voldemort explained, his high cold voice slightly clouded. And indeed, Harry noticed that the unpleasant sensation slowly turned out to be more and more comfortable by every second. The feeling of invasion underneath his skin was gone, replaced with a strange, pulsing heat reminding him of a heartbeat. The flame grew before Harry's eyes and yet it was the last thing to which he paid attention.

The feel of the Dark Lord's skin was strikingly intimate. Voldemort was sharing with him so much more then just a few square inches of contact. It was his magic and heated life force what was permeating Harry's hand now. And he felt himself respond to it, his body sending similar warmth back into the Dark Lord's fingers.

"Keep the flame up," Voldemort whispered, loosening the clutch, making Harry mutter a weak protest when the contact was broken.

He did as he was told, however. Finally, the flame was fully under his control.

"It should bend to your will now," the Dark Lord agreed with that. "This method can also help you to obtain a certain amount of control over the Fiendfyre, however, never forget that the cursed fire exhibits a wayward behaviour."

Harry nodded, showing that he listened, but the candle no longer interested him. He turned to look at the Dark Lord daringly, loosing the concentration.

"Exciting, isn't it?" Voldemort said breathlessly. His nostrils flared and the slit pupils of his crimson eyes were dilated, drinking the sight of Harry's flushed face.

"Not as much as you are," Harry whispered. If he were talking to Ginny, he would be already asking for more, but with the Dark Lord it was more difficult. It was a dangerous game where he never knew which boundaries he was allowed to cross. He had problems estimating his reaction to the most simple instigation, not to mention the more complicated ones consisting of feelings and desires. Nevertheless, he couldn't keep quiet for any longer and so he continued.

"I'm sure you'd kill me on the spot if you knew what I am thinking right now."

Voldemort leaned slightly back and sneered.

"Ah, yes. You think that I don't know about it yet, do you?" he asked. "You think that I wasn't aware of what you were thinking when I offered you my _return __service. _But I could _feel_ how much you wanted to control me. The though of me beneath you arouses you more than anything else. You want to dominate me, Harry, don't you?"

Harry knew that Voldemort had to suspect something, but this was too much. It seemed that his head was transparent for every thought the Dark Lord wanted to read. On the other hand, Harry had to admit he was constantly staring in his eyes and didn't really bother to 'clear his head'. Apparently, this was the result. He bit his lip, hard.

"You don't look mad," he breathed out then.

"Actually, I find this rather amusing. No one has ever thought of me in that way."

So he wasn't angry. Harry's heart quickened its pace at the thought of his assent. He skipped a comment about Negura and nervously licked his sore lip before he asked.

"So … would you … er … would you like to … try it?"

"No," Voldemort refused, breaking their eye contact.

"Just for once … and if you didn't enjoy it I would..."

"I think I said NO!" he shouted, standing up and taking a step away from Harry. "Amusing or not, why exactly should I be interested in your _dirty, offensive_ ideas?-!"

"God, I don't want to … humiliate you or trample on your pride or anything!" Harry moaned. "That has nothing to do with this! I dream about it because..." He shook his head, closing his eyes tightly. "Look," he sighed, "those are just my personal preferences, nothing else. I swear I had no intentions to insult you!"

When Voldemort didn't answer, Harry cautiously peeked at him, seeing that his glower was half way gone.

"It's time to leave," the Dark Lord said coldly then, flicking his wand to retrieve the rest of his robes.

"Wait!"

Harry leaped from the bed and wrapping his arms around his waist firmly.

"I kind of hoped that we would do it once again before going home," he quickly said and kissed him before Voldemort could wake from his surprise.

The feeling of the lips against his own was amazing, Harry couldn't get enough of how it felt. The more kisses he received the more he wanted. This blissful experience of being that close was becoming his safeguard from the cruel reality, which was right there behind those walls, waiting to show him its ugly face.

When Voldemort pulled away again, Harry hardly held back a moan of frustration. But the Dark Lord was unyielding.

"You'll come to see me tomorrow and we will continue this," he decided. "Now I'm taking you back. My intuition is telling me that Negura's up to something. I don't wish to linger in this insecure place any longer."

Harry slowly nodded.

"Okay," he said, hiding his disappointment. "If you feel it's best that way then we'd better go. Just give me a minute to get dressed," he added, gave him a peck on his lips and headed for the bathroom.

When he returned, he saw Voldemort fastening his cloak and adjusting the long sleeves around his hands. The bedroom already looked like before, the fireplace was gone, the painting on the wall was yellow again and the furniture was back in the previous positions.

Once they removed all the evidence of their presence, they left the flat in companionable silence, both careful to check twice every shadow they passed. Outside the house, Voldemort seized Harry's hand and Apparated them on the closest rooftop. Then pulled out Dumbledore's watch to modify the settings and Harry just watched him without any protest. What needed to be say was said already, there was no reason to dwell on the topic any longer. When Voldemort signalled him to come closer, he did so without any hesitation, watching him conjure the rope which tied their wrists together. Feeling him so close, Harry secretly wished for the rope to never be torn apart.

With one last look into Tom's face he took a deep breath and the next second they disappeared in a gust of a wind.

xxxxx

_The Burrow_

_1__st__ January 2001, 2:01_

xxxxx

The long expected celebration of the New Millenium was already drawing to a close. Though Ron and Lee were still performing some humorous scenes for Neville, Charlie, George and Hannah, the older members of the Order no longer participated in that. They stood by the fireplace, discussing the recent situation quietly.

Hermione stood apart as well, watching Ron with love in her eyes while listening to what Arthur was saying to Kingsley. She was too scared for Harry to feel any merriment. Moreover, the reports of the growing number of deaths which Mr. Weasley furtively passed to the previous Minister terrified her.

"Your head is teeming with Wrackspurts," a soft, dreamy voice suddenly told her. Hermione jumped and turned to Luna, who seemed to appear out of thin air, wearing her famous dirigible plum earrings and Spectrespecs.

"No, it's not," Hermione said resolutely, though she understood Luna's curious stare. She was supposed to have fun too and not to stand somewhere in the corner. She wished for a moment that she could tell her what was bothering her.

"You're worried about Harry. You've been repeating his name over and over to yourself," Luna continued dreamily and Hermione gasped for breath. It was beyond her comprehension how could she make such a novice mistake. Leaving with an excuse that she wanted to check if Molly needed a help in the kitchen – which she never did – Hermione went to the adjoining room and leaned against the wall.

She almost spoiled it right now after the whole night of keeping the secret that Harry was gone. No one had to know, not even Ron, who occasionally insisted that he wanted to go wake him. Fortunately, she stopped him every time he tried, insisting that Harry needed his rest more than listening to some jokes.

It felt so wrong to deceive Ron like that, however what made her feel much worse than that was the constantly growing fear for her friend. She couldn't claim she really understood Harry's feelings for that … _man,_ if she could even call him that, and yet she helped him to leave the Burrow secretly. She reminded herself that she cared a great deal about his happiness. It was his life and he was surely sensible enough to know what he was doing. Still, she could hardly count his planned visit of You-Know-Who's hideout among the good ideas. Hermione felt that she was supposed to argue with him longer, maybe even convince him that he was making a premature decision. Now, if anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself.

Hermione sighed and came closer to the dark window, looking outside with a silly hope of seeing him coming back.

Pressing her nose to the glass, she watched the pitch blackness outside. And then, suddenly, she thought she saw a quick movement behind it.

A thrill of fear ran through her spine.

She yelped quietly and took a quick step backward, placing her palm over her breast to calm her alarmed heart.

Someone was outside!

But, honestly, who else could it be but Harry? The Burrow was concealed by the Kingsley's and Arthur's protective charms against any intruders. No one except the members of the Order could enter it, not even Negura transfigured into a bat.

Hermione relaxed and looked around. No one heard her surprised gasp over that uproarious laughter coming from the sitting room. Fortunately, she didn't give Harry away.

Quickly running towards the back door, she opened them a chink and asked.

"Harry?"

No one answered her.

"Harry, is that you?" she said a little louder.

Again, no answer, until...

"Hermione," whimpered a feeble voice. "Hermione, _please_, help me...!"

Just as she heard it, she flung the door open wide and cast a nonverbal _Lumos_.

And her body stiffened, she couldn't brought herself to move.

It was Angelina, she recognized her right away. The dark skinned girl was lying on the cold ground, her whole body shaking madly. Her hands were gripping her throat and collar - all of it was covered in fresh blood. Her chocolate eyes were those of a desperate, dying person.

"It hurts! _Please _… help!" she cried.

Hermione made an instinctive step towards her, but just one. Her knees shook so badly that they nearly gave out. All of it looked so real, but her rational part couldn't stop questioning it. Angelina's chances to survive Negura's attack back in the Grimmauld place were minimal, even though George believed it wholly.

"Angelina, hold - hold on!" she stammered. "We'll help you!"

Sprinting inside, she burst into the sitting room, spoiling the meaningless point of Lee's joke.

"Come with me! Quickly!" she cried out.

Ron, Neville, Luna, Hannah and Charlie jumped to their feet in a second. Kingsley and Arthur who were already standing, pulled out their wands immediately.

Hermione didn't wait for anything and anyone and ran back - just to see Molly's trembling back as she dragged Angelina's body inside.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, but her voice was drowned out by George's outcry.

"ANGIE!" he roared, running past Hermione towards his girlfriend.

"Angie … Angie … you're so cold!" he cried as he took her in his arms. "Please, hold on ... DAD! Hurry up! Give me Blood-Replenishing Potion!"

"Wait! We must check first...!" Hermione began but her voice was drowned out in the rising commotion. Then, Mr. Weasley gently pushed her aside as he knelt beside his son, giving him the small bottle.

"Here we go...," he said, but Angelina pushed the bottle aside, breathing heavily.

Hermione didn't know what to do first. Kingsley, Ron and Charlie ran into the dark night to catch those who were responsible for this while she was torn in between the urge to stay here and discover the truth and follow her boyfriend.

"We should check...," she began again, but Angelina interrupted her with a loud, painful groan.

"Georgie … they were hunting us…," she moaned, delirious. "My friends … they helped me … escape... Please, allow them … to hide here … don't let them die!"

"Yes, of course, they are welcomed. Now drink...," George began, but Hermione cut across him.

"NO! You must not say that!"

Everyone turned to her in a deaf silence after her wild exclamation.

"What is it, Hermione? What's wrong?" Lee asked, clearly uncomprehending the source of her horror.

"Don't you see?-! This is a common vampire's trick! She's DEAD! It's a trap!"

But it was too late.

Angelina's body stopped its frantic movements and she looked up calmly at her, her lips twisting up in a small smile.

"I've always admired how clever you are, Hermione."

The room fell silent.

The suddenly cold, chocolate eyes turned to her stunned boyfriend.

"I'm sorry, Georgie," she said with a fake apology, "but Hermione was absolutely correct. You should have listened to her."

"What … what do you mean?" George gasped breathlessly.

"I no longer belong only to you, _love_," she whispered and slowly got up, licking her bloodied fingers. "But also to my dearest Leader," she added and her smile grew wider, baring her pointed fangs.

And right in that moment the first flashes of curses cut the air outside. Just a second later Charlie, then Ron and finally Kingsley invaded the house in a whirl.

"RUN! THEY'RE COMING!"

Hermione only saw Ron's hand grasping her shoulder, dragging her towards the fireplace. She squirmed out of his clutch, pointing her wand on an old bowl standing at a small dark cabinet.

"_Portus,"_ she breathed out soundlessly just before Ron was about to push her beneath the mantelpiece.

"Oh, don't bother! Your fireplace has been disconnected from the Floo Network," said a pleasant, amused voice, making them all stop in their stampede.

The voice belonged to a slim, averagely tall vampire dressed in an elegant, anthracite suit. His grey eyes skimmed the room with a mild interest.

"Come closer … you have been honored by our Leader's visit," he added maliciously and made room for a taller person to enter.

Hermione's breath stopped as she saw the other, taller figure come into the light.

This monster, whose navy blue eyes could freeze the blood in her veins, scared her just as much as Voldemort. He looked _directly_ at her and then at Ron, a detached smile plastered on his nicely shaped lips.

"So it's a definite truth," Kingsley said sharply. "You're a vampire no matter what you proclaim!"

He bowed a little as if Shacklebolt paid him a compliment.

"My deepest apologies for interrupting your surely pleasant celebration. I am aware how incredibly rude it is to pay you such a late visit, however, I came in regards to an urgent matter, which needs to be solved immediately."

Hermione's shaking hand carefully touched Ron's.

"Ron," she said so quietly that her lips almost didn't move. "Tell everyone to touch the bowl when I say now."

"What do you want?" Neville asked boldly while Ron nodded and passed that message to his mother.

"Well … yes, it's rather controversial business. As everyone else I always thought that the Order of the Phoenix is an organization whose aim is to fight Lord Voldemort. That's why I wanted to reach an agreement with your leader, which is, if I'm correct, Harry Potter."

"If you came here for Harry," Ron screamed, his face turning red in anger, "than you'd better turn around and go back where you come from while you can! We will never hand him over to _you_!"

The smaller man standing beside Negura obviously couldn't hold back a cruel chuckle.

"But we didn't come here for that boy. We know very well that he isn't here tonight!"

"What?" Ron gasped in alarm. It seemed that he was thinking about Harry being kidnapped without them knowing about it. When it came to that point, Hermione's throat narrowed as well, for there was an unrelenting possibility that they really had caught him already.

Ron's reaction made the grey-eyed vampire smirk acidly.

"He didn't tell you anything, did he? Your sweet, innocent hero doesn't want you to know! What an amazingly compromising situation! We must tell them, my Leader, right?"

Negura didn't speak on that matter for some reason. He kept his face carefully blank.

"We just returned from Paris," the smaller vampire continued cheerfully, "where we _coincidentally _saw Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort having a great time together. Your dearest Boy-Who-Lived isn't here at the moment because he's too busy sodomizing his archenemy abroad..."

"Nestor."

That single word coming from Negura's lips stopped the derisive tirade. The vampire in the anthracite suit turned to the Leader, bowed his head a little and kissed a small ring on his own little finger.

"How dare you to say such disgusting lies about Harry Potter?-!" Neville, who first woke up from the shock, sputtered into the heavy silence and raised his wand.

"Do you expect us to believe a single word of that crap of yours?-!" Lee added.

"As if Harry would ever do such an abominable thing!" Ron spat out, making the vampire laugh out aloud.

"Oh! That's what is called a blind trust. You wouldn't believe it even if you saw them copulating with your own eyes...," he sneered.

"Nestor!"

The vampire looked at Negura again, apologizing with another bow.

"That's enough," the Leader finally said. "After all, we didn't come here to discuss Potter's immoral behaviour, only to explain why I decided to act the way I did. I want them to know the reason for their upcoming suffering."

Just as he said it, nearly a dozen of wands was pointed at him and yet he remained unperturbed.

"Cuthbert," he whispered and from the darkness behind him stepped out a hooded figure, coming to stand by his side.

"They all know," Ron meanwhile whispered to Hermione's ear. "But I need to get upstairs to save Harry."

"He's not there," Hermione breathed back, her watery eyes meeting his, pleading for understanding. She was surely the only one who didn't doubt the truth behind that nasty vampire's words. If only there was a time and a room to explain that.

Because she saw that her response made Ron's chin drop in horror.

"Do you see that bushy headed girl beside that red-haired boy?" Negura said aloud in a calm voice, interrupting them.

Hermione was instantly gripped by a panic attack, and Ron had to feel the same as he too froze beside her.

"I know that Potter cares about them the most," Negura said plainly. "They'll be coming with us back on the Ministry. _Alive_, Cuthbert … for now."

"How dare you?-!" Kingsley snarled. "You have no authority to do that!"

"Whoever you are, whatever you plan to do, I WON'T let you lay a hand on my son!" Arthur sputtered, his face unrecognizable in his fury.

"You won't dare to touch MY children!" Molly screamed, her eyes glittering with tears.

If possible Negura looked even less interested than before.

"I have all the authority I need, Shacklebolt. And the cries of two pathetic parents are hardly going to stop me. But you can try, of course, since you obviously think you can defeat me."

His proclamation was supported by a truly evil snigger of Negura's handsome companion. The second vampire under the cape who the Leader called Cuthbert, didn't say or do anything.

He just waited and that was even more threatening than anything else.

"If may fail to stop you, but Harry will do it!" George shouted as he looked at Angelina standing behind the Leader. He seemed to be crushed by worse pain than the qualms of conscience.

"That's not very likely, for Harry Potter is finished. I will personally..."

"NOW!" Hermione cried out and raised the wand.

"_Accio!"_ she screamed in the same moment as Kingsley sent his Patronus upstairs.

The bowl jumped from the cabinet, sweeping over the room towards them and she was just about to reach it just like everyone else. She almost felt it at her fingertips when a sudden powerful force slammed her away of it and down on the floor. Ron fell beside her with a loud thud, coughing.

The Portkey was gone and half of the Order with it. Those who saw the two them falling on the floor didn't catch it and began to fight.

Hermione saw Neville, Molly and Kingsley by the corner of her eye. She tried to sit up and shake off that spell from her shoulder, but that hooded figure was already above her, leaning to her...

She could see beneath his cape, she could see he was missing a half of his face. Her mouth wanted to scream but her lungs lacked the breath.

Hearing Ron's desperate cry she attempted to raise the wand again and fight, but then a sudden impact to her temple sent her into darkness.

_**R&R**_


	13. Change of heart, part 3

**Author's note:**

Hi! I want to thank to all of you who reviewed the previous chapter. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to say few words to the readers who are dissatisfied with the progress of this story. Yes, I know that the last chapter probably wasn't thrilling from the first to the last letter but there are always chapters like this in nearly every book I've read so far. I find a change of pace a necessary element which helps to built the tension. If I fail to make some progress in this one, you will have a reason to complain I guess. There's one more thing. Please, don't forget that this is just a fanfic without an aspiration to reach the quality of books written by professional writers. Which means that if you find it boring or unsatisfactory in any fundamental way, you will not waste your money if you stop reading it. Though your opinion matters to me very much, I am not able and I do not intend to fulfill every wish of every reviewer who posted a comment to this story. Thanks for your understanding.

Concerning the four weeks long delays between updates, I will try to avoid it in the future but I can hardly promise you anything. I'm doing maximum to keep this story in progress even though the time I have for writing has become very limited.

Enjoy the chapter

Rating of the chapter: **T**

**Special thanks to my great beta: TheSecretUchiha**

Rating of the chapter: **T**

xxxxx

**Change of heart, part III**

xxxxx

_72 Abbey Road, Axminster_

_1__st__ January 2001, 5:21_

_xxxxx_

"You can have this."

It was just a moment after the world stopped spinning around Harry when Voldemort turned to him, his cold hand brushed against Harry's as he placed a little glass vial into his palm.

"Seriously?" Harry whispered, raising his eyebrows, giving him a quizzical look.

"Why? You don't want to see it?" he asked after Voldemort briefly nodded in response.

"I made a copy of that memory and hid it on the most secure place when you were in the bathroom," the Dark Lord smirked and lightly tapped his temple with a fingertip. Then he turned away from him and descended the rounded platform, graceful as always.

"Oh," Harry mumbled, frowning. "Isn't it dangerous to put a foreign memory into your head?"

"Memories can cause you no harm," Riddle said as Harry stepped down to him. "I want you to see it and tell me your opinion," he added and lightly skimmed his fingers over Harry's chin.

Harry caught the chilly digits and brought them to his lips but Voldemort quickly freed them from his clutch and looked towards a passage in the distance.

According to his sudden withdrawal, Harry guessed that they were no longer alone. He, however, didn't see or hear anyone until a soft moon light, which was coming through the shattered roof, revealed a masked person few steps away from them.

"My Lord," the man said in a low voice as he bowed deeply.

"You bring news?" Voldemort responded coldly, making the man bend his back even more.

"Yes, my Lord."

"So?"

"There was another attack, Master. The vampires are on the move."

It was apparent that the Death Eater was very reluctant to speak in front of Harry. He shifted on his feet in a nervous manner, looking at him distrustfully every now and then.

"Then I must be going," Harry said quickly and turned to Voldemort.

He lightly touched the pale, long-fingered hand, making it twitch a little at the contact.

The red eyes met his in a fleeting glance.

If Voldemort wanted to say something – and Harry felt that he did – he pretended otherwise.

**"_Tell him to leave,"_** Harry whispered in Parseltongue and Voldemort jerked his head to look at him directly, surprised at first, but then a small smile flashed on his lips. After breaking the eye contact, he turned to the Death Eater and stepped forward.

"I shall need all the information you can give me later. You may go now," he dismissed him in a cold, commanding voice and the man bowed so deeply that his head nearly touched the floor and scurried back out of the hall. Voldemort watched him leave and only once they were alone, he spoke to Harry again.

"I want you to stay here in the Manor."

Harry distractedly ran his hand through his hair. He wished the same but...

"I can't," he sighed. "I promised my friends that I'd go back. They are probably awaiting my return already."

Harry decided not to elaborate on it. Voldemort didn't have to know that it was only Hermione who was informed about where he headed. The rest of the Order shouldn't have the slightest idea that he in fact wasn't present.

The Dark Lord's apparent displeasure with his answer disrupted the flow of Harry's thoughts. Voldemort turned to him again with a truly baleful sneer plastered on his face.

"Does it means that your _friends_ are more important to you than I am?" he hissed virulently.

"Equally so," Harry reacted right away, calmly meeting the scalding glare. "I made a _promise_, Tom," he added in a softer voice. "We can see each other tomorrow, if you want."

Voldemort said nothing at first, his face carefully emotionless after the previous slip.

"I could force you to stay … but it's quite unnecessary, I think," he said aloofly then and Harry couldn't get rid of the feeling that with that answer Voldemort was trying to prove himself that he didn't really need him around. However, saying it aloud like that nearly proved the opposite. "Very well, off you go," he continued. "But before you leave, I shall give you back what I took in the Shack."

With a flick of his wand some unidentifiable object came flying towards them from the passage, but soon it was close enough for Harry to recognize his Invisibility cloak.

"It helped me to escape the Aurors when I was weakened. I see no further use in that though," Voldemort said as he handed it over to Harry.

"You … so it was you who took it!" Harry gasped, running his hand over the silvery cloth.

"And?" the Dark Lord gave a hiss.

Strangely, Harry felt no anger. Negura having it and profiting of its powers would bother him thousand times more.

"Funny. It saved so many lives and yet no one desires it. The most extraordinary Hallow indeed," he whispered and louder he said.

"I'm glad it helped you to escape."

The Dark Lord's stiffened features relaxed and the gleam in his eyes softened a little.

"You can go now," he said then. "Since you're welcomed here, you shall be able to Apparate in and out of this room anytime you want."

Even more than before Harry wished he could stay.

"I wonder…," he began and licked his lips nervously. "Can I kiss you first?" he asked. It sounded super awkward to say it aloud, but Harry couldn't imagine himself leaving without a kiss.

Voldemort's surprise was only transient. The next moment he leaned down a little and Harry stepped forward, wound his hands around the back of his neck and brought their lips together. A thrill of happiness ran down his spine as he felt him so close, as he smelt his skin and perceived his rapid heartbeat under his palms.

They slowly parted a moment later, watching each other intensely. Harry needed several deep breaths to calm himself enough to speak.

"Tomorrow evening," he whispered quietly to his ear and reluctantly stepped aside so he could Disapparate. Suppressing a sigh, Harry compelled himself to break their eye contact and quickly turned on the spot.

xxxxx

The blackness engulfed him briefly and when it was gone, Harry stood on a muddy driveway to the Burrow.

The sky above was still dark blue, dotted with hundreds of stars and only a faint green line along the horizon to the east announced the upcoming morning. Harry looked over the darkened landscape, squeezing the handle of his wand in his palm. He didn't know what made him consider pulling his cloak on. Since he had Apparated behind the protective enchantments, no one should be able to see him beside his friends who were certainly asleep by now. But a weird, unpleasant feeling stayed at the edge of his thoughts, urging him to move faster.

Harry prolonged his step, careful to make as little noise as possible. Now as he was approaching the dwelling, he couldn't miss its somewhat desolate look. His observations were ridiculous, really. He refused to unnerve himself without any reason. Surely, there was nothing unusual about the quietness of an early morning.

Yet, the back doors which were left open wide for some reason, didn't ease his worries. Also, the glass seemed to be missing in the windowpanes and several shutters and tiles were smashed as if hit by a curse.

Harry's sense of foreboding increased; this definitely didn't seem right. Such damage looked far more serious than just the consequence of an excessive celebrating. His heart jumped in his chest and began furiously knocking against his ribcage, gripped by panic.

Unaware that he was running, Harry burst inside the Burrow and a scene of devastation met his eyes.

Harry's stomach plummeted into his feet.

"No … please, no...," he gasped, tottering on the spot until his knees gave out and he sank to the bloodied floor. The voice of the Death Eater telling him that there was another attack resounded in his mind dulled by horror.

"Not them … please, not them..."

How could he leave them alone?

Where was he when his friends were here fighting for their lives?

How many survived?

How many not?

Who was the one bleeding here … while he wasn't here to help them?

Harry's shaking fingers touched the black, drying spot. The air felt like fire in his lungs, burning him with his every poor attempt at respiration. He tried to stand up and found himself sinking back to the 't give up until he stood unsteadily and then he dragged his leaden legs towards the staircase. There were splinters and trash everywhere, the walls were broken, the furniture destroyed. Harry waved the trembling wand to clear away the debris and suddenly something caught his attention.

Horrified beyond any measure, he leaned down and pulled a familiar object out from the rubble.

"Neville!" he gasped as he recognized the wand.

Suddenly, four cracks of Apparation broke through his shocked state of mind.

Harry turned on the heel and sprinted outside, a mixture of hope and fear pulsing in his veins. He stopped behind the door frame, his wand at the ready, pointed into the darkness.

"Potter?"

A relief washed over him. It was Kingsley's voice, deep and authoritative.

"Harry, is that you?"

The much softer voice belonged to Luna, though its usual dreamy quality was diminished to a barely noticeable level.

"Of course it's Harry. Who else could come here beside the vampires?" said Mr. Weasley and came into the light of Harry's wand.

"Which means he could be one of them. Check if his heart's beating," George said bitterly.

Harry cleared his dry throat and rasped.

"Mr. Weasley? What in the world has happened here?"

"He's alive, George. As you can see, he's using magic," Arthur said over his shoulder and finally spoke to Harry.

"We were forced to leave the Burrow, Harry. It's not safe here anymore."

"We were attacked, right? Was it the vampires?" Harry implored. "Is anyone d... hurt? Please, I must now!"

"Not here!" Kingsley who appeared by Harry's right side snapped and grasped his elbow firmly. "Let's go! Quickly!"

There was a swish of robes and the next moment Harry was pushed down a rubber tube again.

Kingsley didn't release his clutch even as they reappeared in front of a dingy building which Harry immediately recognized as the Hog's Head Inn.

"Inside!" Kingsley barked and pushed Harry through the door, speedily following him.

"Harry! Harry!"

Harry turned to look in a direction of the new voices and he saw Molly and Lee hurrying towards him.

"Wait!" Kingsley stopped them with a raised hand. "First, we ought to get an explanation."

He leaned closer to Harry, his dark eyes nearly as perceptive as Dumbledore's blue ones used to be.

"Where have you been, Harry?" he asked firmly, his face showing no emotion.

Of course he would want to know that, but his demanding question seemed meaningless compared to what bothered Harry right now.

Molly came into Harry's field of view, pale and tired, limping on the left leg. Still, her pained face wore a kind expression as she looked at him.

"There's no reason to question Harry like that," she said. "No one else deserves our trust more than him."

"I don't believe a word of what Negura told us either, but why shouldn't we let Harry tell us the truth?" the previous Minister shook his head, looking at Harry again.

"Negura...," Harry muttered, heavily sitting in a chair. So the Leader wasn't looking for him and Voldemort in Paris. He desired a different kind of revenge. The beast learned where to hurt him the most and didn't hesitate to strike at that spot. Harry clenched his hands on the armrest to stop them from shaking.

"I was … on a secret mission to disclose a secret of Negura's immortality," he finally said and looked up at Kingsley. "He had to discover what I was doing. That must be the real reason why he attacked the Burrow."

Turning his head toward Arthur and then Molly, he whispered. "Please, I need to know where's Ron, Hermione and Neville! What happened to them? I found Neville's wand in the Burrow!"

He pulled it out of his pocket and placed it on the table before Kingsley who took a deep breath and shook his head slightly.

"Negura is a tricky bastard. He used Angelina against us. We should have foreseen that she's one of them now." As Kingsley said it, Harry heard George's painful sob. "Concerning Neville and Hannah, they are in the hospital, they were both bitten badly, but Madam Pomfrey says they'll survive it."

Harry jumped from the chair, his throat narrowing.

"And Ron? And Hermione?"

"Taken to the Ministry. We couldn't do anything to prevent it," Shacklebolt finished in a grave tone.

There was heavy silence which prolonged and prolonged and nothing seemed to be powerful enough to break it, not even Molly's occasional whimpers. Arthur, came over to her side and tried to soothe her, but Harry hardly noticed any of that as the room was spinning around him so much that he had to sit down again and take a deep breath.

"Are they...?"

He began, but lost his voice. A moment later he tried again.

"Did they...?"

He couldn't say it. He felt like there was no air in his lungs.

"They were alive last time we saw them," George whispered, hiding his face in his palms. "It's my fault, Harry! All of that."

"Don't speak nonsense!"

The clear voice coming from the door announced newcomers and everyone turned to watch Professor McGonagall, Aberforth, Hagrid and Charlie enter the pub.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said when her sharp gaze located him. "I see you haven't fetched along any dark lord this time. Pity, I never thought I would say this, but it would be handy to have such an ally since the peaceful leadership of Dolores Umbridge and her highest advisor is just another form of despotism."

Harry couldn't react to that for he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he might voice all his anxiety in a wail which would make all Molly's cries pitiful in comparison. He only nodded, keeping his lips clenched together.

The headmistress moved further into the room followed by Charlie, Aberforth and finally Hagrid, who squeezed himself inside through the narrow door as well.

"Hello, Harry. Yer all righ'?" he greeted him, his voice attempting but failing to sound cheerful. He stopped before Harry, keeping his head bent beneath the ceiling.

"Don' worry, Harry," he smiled weakly. "We're goin' ter stop 'em, the bloodthirsty beasts."

Slowly, Harry felt that his ability to talk was returning to him.

"Hagrid," he whispered. "You don't get it. They captured Ron and Hermione!"

"We know that," Kingsley said before Hagrid could speak out. "There's no way we will stand aside and do nothing. Many things have changed, Harry. We have a secret, but full support of the Auror's office and four other departments. After what had happened in the Shrieking Shack, after the brutal murder of Dennis Creevy and after all those reports on missing Muggles, no one can say that there's nothing wrong about Umbridge's highest advisor and his policy. We are gathering the troops, Harry. Within two days, we will be able to implement the rescue mission and get rid of the vampires from the Ministery!"

Harry slowly rose to his feet. It was obvious that Kingsley wasn't aware of at least two key problems. Firstly, no one could kill Negura at the moment and as long as the vampire was around, he could create himself an army of followers anytime he wanted. Secondly, his friends would never survive two days in that captivity.

"With all respect, Shacklebolt," Harry said quietly, "there will be no one to rescue then. If they are still alive, Ron and Hermione have hours before some of their jailers becomes too thirsty. I say we must act now!"

Kingsley rubbed his chin and then he slowly shook his head.

"Harry, it's really not that simple. Vampires might be dormant over the day, but you cannot count on that in the Ministry, which is underground. As Percy told us, the fake day light doesn't seem to hurt them too much. If so, the vampires can hypothetically attack anytime they want and in that case, we don't have enough people to fight hundreds of vampires yet. Without careful preparation, it would be nothing but slaughter!"

Harry's stomach gave a jolt. Kingsley was right. It would be a slaughter and Harry couldn't allow anyone to die for his mistakes.

"Okay," he nodded, speaking calmly. "Gather as much people as you can. We will need everyone who's ready to fight. I … I will go ahead and try to … come to an agreement with Negura. Even if I fail, I might give you time to save Ron and Hermione."

This pronouncement was followed by one of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard.

And then Hagrid roared so much that he made the bottles of Butterbeer rattle on the counter.

"WHAT?-! HARRY! You musn' go anywhere! They're goin' ter kill yeh!"

Next, Harry was grasped by the huge hands, which shook him forcefully.

"Right. Don't let him go. The boy doesn't value his life at all," Aberforth joined in, watching Harry sceptically.

"Hagrid! Stop it! I have a plan," Harry objected and after several attempts freed himself from his friend's clutch.

"What plan?" Kingsley snapped and began to pace. "If you want to use the Invisibility cloak, then forget it, Harry. Vampires may not see you but they can certainly feel your body warmth and that's something the cloak doesn't hide," he said, pointing his hand at the silver cloth Harry held under his armpit. "I know, Harry, that it's hard for you, but it's hard for us all. You must realize that you're too important to offer them your life on a silver platter!"

"Am I that important because I'm supposed to kill Voldemort?" Harry answered back, his voice becoming heated. "If yes then listen. I don't want to do that anymore! I don't want to kill him! He … he is...," Harry paused, feeling blood rushing to his cheeks. "I just can't do that."

Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"Anyway, you're right, many things have changed. I'm sorry if I disappointed you, but that's how it is! Now if you excuse me, I'll be going. I refuse to leave my Ron and Hermione in that mess!"

"Harry," Kingsley tried again. "Try to understand that..."

"I WON'T LET THEM DIE! NOT IF I CAN STOP IT!"

"Then take us with you," George quickly stood up, other members of Dumbledore's army following his lead.

"I want to save my brother too!" Charlie agreed, joined them.

Harry looked over their faces and over his anger he felt a rush of gratitude.

"Thanks … but you can't go with me this time. There's one more thing I have to take care of and I must do it alone."

He came over to the door and lay a hand on the handle.

"I wish there was another way," he said, his voice slightly shaky. "If I don't come back till the evening, I'm sure you know what to do."

xxxxx

_72 Abbey Road, Axminster_

_1__st__ January 2001, __8__:__40_

Harry honestly didn't expect to return to Axminster so soon, but the situation required instant action. Who knew how much time Ron and Hermione had left? Days … hours … minutes? The ever-present thought of losing them was slowly driving him crazy. Chasing away the horrible images of their maimed bodies, Harry focused on the plan instead. He knew he had to discover what Negura's Horcrux was before going to the Ministry. If he wanted to have some chance of success, he needed to see LeRoy's memory. And who else could translate it better for him than his dear Dark Lord who followed the same goal? Who knows, maybe he could even try to convince him to come along and join the rescue mission, just as McGonagall ironically noted. If there was one person powerful and yet careful enough that he didn't need to worry about, it was Voldemort. The Dark Lord wouldn't even think about saving Ron and Hermione so Harry wouldn't have to be scared for him falling into some trap - in contrast to what the members of the Order would probably do. However, Voldemort could hold Negura back, giving him time to find his friends and get them out of the Ministry.

Taking a quick turn behind a corner, Harry entered another of the long corridors of Voldemort's secret basement. Suddenly, a sound of quick footsteps and muffled voices penetrated his through his feverish thoughts.

Instinctively, he came to a halt and hid in a shadow behind one massive stone pillar. He may not have a real reason to hide, however, he preferred to avoid an unnecessary hassle with the Death Eaters.

They passed him quickly, Rowle and Dolohov, and Harry caught a snippet of their conversation.

"... I was ordered out of the drawing room! The Dark Lord doesn't want to be disturbed! Do you want to risk that?"

"No, but still, doesn't it make you wonder what she told him? He seemed..."

Harry didn't hear the rest, because the men disappeared behind the corner in haste. But at least he knew where he should be heading.

"Drawing room," he whispered for himself and quickened his pace. Hopefully, it was the same room where the Death Eater's meeting took a place yesterday.

After taking a couple of wrong turns Harry finally found the magnificent foyer with a large staircase which he was looking for.

Not waiting to catch his breath, Harry ran upstairs and heard a familiar, cold voice.

Curious, he stifled his fast breathing to hear what he was saying.

"I confess myself surprised, Narcissa," the Dark Lord spoke clearly as if he stood next to him. "You _dare_ to come here and ask Lord Voldemort a favour? Are you so feeble-minded that you think that after your husband's and son's betrayal I am interested in your service?"

"Narcissa?" Harry whispered and raised his eyebrows. What was Draco's mother doing here? He decided he could spare one minute to hear her explanation.

"My Lord," came a shaky reply. "My Lord, my son never betrayed you! I swear it! The Leader took away his wand – he is in fact a captive! I'm certain he intends to kill him for his unwavering loyalty to you, Master!" she said tearfully.

"I really doubt that," Voldemort whispered coldly. "Even if it is true, what does it matter to me?"

"My Lord … I beg … I beg you … Master … let him come back to you. I'll do anything … absolutely anything you ask, if only he can return here..."

Harry didn't even dare to breathe or peek behind the column as he waited for Voldemort's reply.

"Anything you say," came a chilly hiss and there was a rustle of cloth as Voldemort began to pace.

"I wonder," he said then, "whether you haven't promised the same to the Leader. Maybe you knelt before him too and begged for Draco's life. And he ordered you to come here and do your best to worm back into my favour so Negura could spy on me. Isn't that the case, Narcissa?"

A horrified gasp and a little cry echoed in the spacious room.

Harry nervously shifted on his feet.

"NO! My Lord! I swear I would never...!"

"_Crucio!"_

She shrieked and wailed, her body fell to the floor, tossing about, making pitiful flapping sounds.

"You ... Malfoys ... are my greatest disappointment," Voldemort hissed scornfully and lifted the curse just a moment before Harry announced his presence. Holding the words back on his tongue, Harry went up few more steps to watch what was happening. The Dark Lord turned away from the helpless woman and approached another seemingly unconscious person lying on the floor several feet from the mantelpiece.

"None of your valueless _presents_, Narcissa, can help you gain my trust. This man which you've captured can give me no valuable information. He merely sickens me," he whispered and flicked his wand. The person on the ground awakened with a jerk.

"You're Dawlish, an Auror willingly helping the vampires, aren't you?" he addressed him coldly and disdainfully.

The man produced a strangled cry as he regained full awareness and recognized the Dark Lord. He crouched in fear, trying to crawl away.

"I remember that three years ago you eagerly participated in the persecution of Mudbloods, proclaiming your endless devotion to my cause and desire to protect of the pureblood wizards and witches at any cost. And now you are feeding the vampires with their blood."

There was a searing contempt poisoning Voldemort's chilly voice. The yew wand twitched in his hand as a curse was building in it. Harry saw it and stepped out of the shadows, expecting Voldemort to look at him, but Riddle seemed to be too absorbed by his speech to notice him.

"I would greatly enjoy watching them feed on you but … no need to have another bloodsucking freak to deal with," he hissed icily.

"Have a mercy!" Dawlish rasped desperately as Voldemort raised his wand, preparing to strike. "They - they wanted to kill me...! I wasn't given any choice!"

Harry licked his dry lips. No, Voldemort wasn't about to kill him. He gave him his word. He won't break it for that pathetic man for sure.

"No," Voldemort whispered, baring his pointy teeth. "You weren't."

"_Avada Kedavra."_

"NO!" Harry howled, but the green light already enlightened every corner of the drawing room. The next moment Dawlish's lifeless body heavily fell on the floor with a final thud.

In the same time, Voldemort spun around, facing Harry, his face a display of surprise.

The Dark Lord froze and the sudden stillness prevailed for a several long seconds, disturbed only by Narcissa's shocked gasp. Harry didn't hear it. Even if Dumbledore appeared beside him in that moment wearing a pink dress, he wouldn't have noticed. His shock was eventually replaced by a cold realization and Harry felt that his heart might rupture with a sorrow which blossomed in it.

"Potter," Voldemort finally whispered when the silence wore on for too long. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought...," Harry began stiffly, "I was always welcomed."

Voldemort grimaced and briefly glanced at the Dawlish's corpse.

"You must realize that what you've just seen wasn't..."

"It was incredibly easy for you, wasn't it?" Harry cut across him firmly. "To break the word you gave me. You didn't even have to think about it for a _tinyfraction_ of second."

"Careful, boy. Don't forget who you're talking to," Voldemort whispered dangerously when Harry's tone became scornful.

"Or what?-!" Harry sputtered. "Will you kill me too?-! Though you PROMISED never to do it again! Have you already forgotten that your rescue wasn't unconditional, Riddle?-!"

The Dark Lord moved his hand jerkily as if chasing away a pestilent insect.

"You don't understand anything!" he hissed coldly, watching Harry with his gleaming red eyes. At that point, the pain in Harry's chest found its way through his throat and reached his lips, forming words on them.

"NO! IT'S YOU WHO DOESN'T UNDERSTAND A THING!" he cried. "I BELIEVED YOU AND YOU BETRAYED MY TRUST! SINCE THE WORD YOU GAVE ME MEANS NOTHING TO YOU THEN I HARDLY MATTER TO YOU AS WELL! BUT LET ME TELL YOU THIS – YOU'RE DONE USING ME!"

The echo of Harry's roar resonated in the room several times until it faded away into a deaf silence and Voldemort just stood there, unmoving, obviously heart-stricken by the force of Harry's outburst. His mouth fell slightly open but he quickly composed himself and his features hardened.

"Potter," he hissed, his voice regaining firmness. "Why is it that you can't see that the man was just Negura's servile bootlicker, a blood traitor of the worst kind?-!"

"BUT I DON'T CARE!" Harry yelled back. "I DON'T CARE WHO HE WAS OR WHAT HE HAD DONE! THIS IS ABOUT YOU AND ME! YOU'VE DECEIVED ME! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK ABOUT TREACHERY BEFORE ME!"

Over the veil of anger Harry saw Voldemort's porcelain face twist in both hurt and rage_. _It was tearing his heart apart to see him like that, but he endured it without a single tear spilling out of his watery eyes. Unlike Voldemort he had morals, boundaries which he would never cross. The Dark Lord continued to kill mindlessly and without any regrets. How could he be with someone like that who doesn't acknowledge any form of love? Why was he expecting a miracle? Why was he crushed when it didn't happen?

Voldemort suddenly stepped forward, his every movement stiff and graceless.

"I made a … mistake," he said in a strangely constricted voice, his large crimson eyes distressed as he failed to keep his poker face. "You must not leave me because of that. I will not allow it."

But Harry shook his head, looked away from him and took a step backward.

"No, it's wasn't a _mistake _as you say. It was a proof of _your_ choice," he whispered, fighting tears. "Unlike you, I do remember my part of the promise."

Voldemort visibly winced and came to a standstill. When he spoke again his voice was completely hollow.

"Does it mean you want to kill me now, Harry Potter?"

The searing pain exploded in Harry's insides again, making him crouch at the feeling.

He bent his head and tried to take in some breath.

"H-... How … could I?" he gasped. "I care too much... Apparently, I was a naive fool when I thought that you and I...," Harry shook his head, taking a step backward.

"Since you destroyed your soul … you cannot be helped."

He never thought that love could also hurt like this, but he couldn't break now. His friends needed him. He had to be stronger than this. He had to think about them … and not this man who only knew how to make him suffer.

"This is a farewell ... Tom Riddle," he whispered lifelessly, his green eyes meeting the crimson ones for the last time.

Voldemort's mouth moved again, but no sound escaped him.

Harry turned away from him and ran downstairs before his heart could betray him too. He heard him calling then, he heard his desperate, furious cries, but he didn't stop and come back. Voldemort made a decision of his future in which Harry had no place. He didn't belong here in that world of cruelty and hatred which would only destroy him.

It was over, he had to forget his feelings and look forward to the blackness of his future.

"Ron, Hermione … please, be alive!"

xxxxx

_Shell Cottage_

_1__st__ January 2001, __9__:__51_

The scenery around Bill's and Fleur's Shell Cottage looked wonderfully peaceful in the cold winter morning. The mist was slowly dissolving in a light salty breeze coming from the sea and the mild sun rays coloured everything in the most impressive hues of white, grey and dark brown. For a moment Harry closed his eyes and listened to the thundering waves breaking against the cliffs deep below.

In that single serene moment he wished that all what happened was just a nightmare and that he would see Ron, Hermione and Ginny running out of the cottage, welcoming him, waving at him happily.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and sighed. Why was he lying to himself? He would be much happier if Ron, Hermione and _Voldemort _came outside, but the surreality of that image smashed his fantasy into tiny pieces.

Harry shook his head and stepped up on the porch, lightly knocking at the door.

Less then ten seconds later it was flung open.

"Harry...," Bill gasped in surprise but then he smiled, pushing a ginger lock behind his ear. "It's great to see you again. Come in."

He stepped slightly aside giving Harry room to enter.

"Thanks, Bill," Harry muttered.

"I won't be staying long," he said as Bill closed the door behind him.

Bill opened his mouth to ask something, but right in that moment Fleur emerged from the sitting room.

"Mon Dieu! It's Harry! Come inside, please!" She caught his hands and kissed both his cheeks with so much happiness that it actually lifted the dark cloud hovering over Harry's head for a moment.

It's been some time – three months at least – since Harry saw them the last time. He was told back then that they were expecting a baby but from what he saw right now, she wouldn't be able to conceal it, even if she wanted.

But Fleur's face shone with such merriment that no one could doubt how much she looked forward to her upcoming motherhood. Harry concealed a little sight. It was apparent that the Order decided not to stress them with the current development on the Ministry and since the Daily Prophet continued in its tradition of not telling the truth to the readers, how could they know what was really going on? It made him feel almost like a criminal that he was about to change that.

"Hello, Fleur," he said, plastering a forced smile on his lips as he accepted her invitation to join them in the sitting room.

He seated himself on the edge of sofa and Fleur quickly brought him a cup of tea and some biscuits and then took a seat beside her husband across from Harry.

"So, how are you, Harry?" Bill started, slightly leaning towards him over the table. "You seem a bit … fatigued. Is everything all right in the Order?"

Harry took a quick sip from his cup, trying to appear as calm as possible. It was hard since his intestines were coiling in grief and worries.

"Well … it depends... How much do you know … about the recent situation?" he asked. Better let them talk first. He didn't want to tell them more than it was necessary.

"What exactly do you mean? We only know what Molly and Arthur told us few days ago when they stopped by. They said that there are some serious problems with vampires on the Ministry," Bill answered and then hesitated before asking. "Did something happen?"

Yeah, something did happen indeed. Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, considering what was safe to tell them. He couldn't hide the whole truth if he wanted to ask for their help.

"We are officially in a war with them," he said. "The Burrow was attacked under the Leader's command and the vampires have taken hostages."

"What?-! How could they?-! Who did they take?-!" Fleur yelped shrilly, while Bill rose to his full height, curling his hands into fists.

"Ron and Hermione - wait Bill!" Harry called out as Fleur's husband set out for the door already.

"Kingsley's organizing a rescue mission, but he surely wants you to stay here with your wife. It's your responsibility to protect her, Bill. Helping my friends is mine."

"No, Harry. Ron's my brother! I won't let anything bad happen to him – and Hermione too!"

"And what if some of the vampires killed you there?-! Would you come back here and happily murder Fleur as well?-! Is that what you want?"

Bill's shoulders tensed and then slumped a bit.

"No … but..."

"You can help them in another way," Harry continued, pulling out the flask with the memory.

"I bet you can talk French by now, Bill, am I right? I need you to translate this memory for me. Without it, I don't think I'll be able to save them."

"You? I thought that the whole Order is going on the rescue mission!"

"Um, yeah, kinda … yeah," Harry quickly nodded, trying to cover his mistake.

Hesitantly, Bill returned to his seat, but he remained standing.

"I'm not very good in French, Harry, even though Fleur gives me … regular private lessons."

"You're getting much better darling," Fleur smiled weakly and then she looked at Harry.

Why can't I translate it for you, Harry?"

"Better not," Harry shook his head a bit. "I know for sure that this memory contains a brutal murder. I don't want you to see it."

Fleur fluently got up, looking offended.

"Have you forgotten that I was a Triwizard champion too? I faced the same dangers as you did, Harry! So why do you think I can't deal with that?"

Harry blinked, amazed. "But you're..."

"Pregnant? What about it?" Fleur answered back. "I'm not sick."

"Eh … Okay," Harry reluctantly gave up as she resolutely crossed her arms over her breast. He looked at Bill, who spoke to his wife guardedly.

"If you feel up to it," he said.

"Yes, I do. Harry also didn't hesitate to save Gabrielle when I couldn't help her! I've always wanted to repay him that!"

Harry watched her for a moment and then he nodded.

"Let's do it then."

He uncorked the vial and poured its content into a bowl which Fleur placed on the table. The memory filled it to the brim, swirling madly inside.

"I'll go first," Harry said and bent his back until the tip of his nose touched the silvery liquid.

The sitting room turned upside down and he was falling down a dark tunnel … and then he found himself standing on a wet, slippery pavement. He looked around, watching how his surroundings slowly cleared. He was in some park at night. The memory was still a bit misty, illuminated only by a distant streetlamp beside an old tree a hundred feet away.

"Harry?"

Jumping slightly, Harry turned around, seeing Fleur beside him.

"Who's memory is it?" she asked, but Harry pointed his finger at an approaching figure wearing a long cloak.

Harry recognized her instantly. It was Armynel LeRoy. Her pretty features were maybe even more perfect than those he had seen her in the cathedral. Her beauty was natural and not changed by magic.

"Let's go," Harry muttered and they followed her quietly.

Soon they reached a small, enlightened gazebo, where the woman stopped suddenly. She was looking around carefully as if expecting someone and really, after a short moment, two men emerged out of darkness, approaching them in a leisure pace.

The woman quickly stepped back into the shadows behind the trees surrounding the gazebo. "Her name is Armynel," Harry whispered to Fleur quietly, "and I think she's waiting for her … husband."

"There he goes," he said and pointed his finger at the two men who were already close enough that they could hear their quiet conversation.

The taller of the two was Negura and he spoke in a humble voice to the smaller, bearded man. Hearing that, Harry quickly turned to his lady-companion.

"Fleur?"

She only nodded and listened intently.

"What task do you want me to implement, Master?" she said.

Harry watched the dark lord, Gaston LeRoy, halt and turn to face his servant.

"Actually, that's not the reason why we are here. I just wanted to talk to you, Negura," Fleur whispered quietly when the man stopped talking.

Negura bowed slightly, but the creepy expression didn't leave his face for a second. By the corner of an eye Harry noticed how Gaston's hand tightened around his wand.

"I've been watching you closely for a past couple of weeks," Harry watched Gaston whisper icily. "And I know your secret. I had seen you kill your enemies and drink their blood. Your ability to produce the same magic as a wizard is, however, curious. I wondered how such a thing is even possible."

Negura said nothing, his face became expressionless.

"I've researched all my resources … and guess what I discovered."

"You've found out that the only possibility is that I didn't lose my life source and that I must be hiding it somewhere … but you don't know where is it or what it is, right? I've been watching _you __as well_, Gaston," Negura whispered coldly.

"That's not the only thing I've discovered. I know that you used to be an Auror … and that you want to kill me," Gaston said icily.

Both men raised the wands at the same time.

"Good to know I was correct from the beginning when I mistrusted you:too perfect for someone so young. Suspicious, really, when you act like you're centuries old! But you've overreached yourself, _Dragomir_! You may want to kill me … but I want the same. And," Gaston smirked, rolling his wand between his fingers, "You've underestimated me terribly. Actually, I know far more than you think! I know perfectly well where and what your _H... horcrux_ is!"

Fleur stuttered a little at that word as she misinterpreted its meaning but Harry felt like jumping out of his skin. The wands slashed through the air, but he didn't care for the blinding flashes of the green light as he ran closer to the dueling couple.

"What is it!" he cried out. "Tell me, what is it?-!"

"Harry...," Fleur called at him but Gaston spoke again and Harry turned to her, the words hurling out of him in rush.

"What did he said?-!"

Surprised by the force in his words, Fleur slightly stuttered.

"S - something about a medal around his neck."

She paused, watching them for a moment. "He says - is that the Order of Merlin, perhaps? Didn't you received that after killing Alcander the Atrocious when you were still a human?"

Harry turned to watch them too just in a moment when a sharp flourish of Gaston's wand separated the pendant from Negura's neck. Like a professional Seeker, Gaston summoned it and caught it in his hand.

Smiling triumphantly he blocked Negura's curse, rising the wand again.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The curse flashed out, hitting Negura straightly into his chest. He toppled over, falling to the ground.

"You're not going to get me," Fleur's voice shook as she translated those words for Harry.

Harry watched him kneel, place the Order on the cold pavement and pull out a Basilisk's fang. It was obvious that Gaston was well prepared and Harry couldn't see what could possibly go wrong for him.

Gaston didn't hesitate and raised his hand, stabbing the medal forcefully. It clanged dully as the fang speared it, but that was all what happened.

It didn't bleed like Riddle's diary nor did it scream like the locket did.

Watching the damaged piece of metal, understanding weighted heavily on Harry. This wasn't Negura's Horcrux. And he could see Gaston's horrified face once he came to the same conclusion.

They both gave a yelp as Negura suddenly appeared beside them, speaking to Gaston with a cold amusement.

"Fleur," Harry gasped and felt her slightly sweaty hand clutch his.

"Too bad for you," she whispered tearfully and it took Harry a moment to realize that she was translating again.

"But you've been close. Dangerously close, I must say. I can admit it now since you're going to forget this soon."

"What is it, you bastard," Harry whispered, but Negura understandably couldn't hear him.

The vampire came closer to the kneeling man, disarming him without much trouble as Gaston appeared to be in shock.

"I indeed hid my soul into a little piece of silver," he continued, "but as you can see, it's not the Order of Merlin."

"Where did you hide it? Tell me what is it?-! Dammit! Don't kill him yet!" Harry screamed but Negura merely leaned down to his victim.

"You can … b … beg now…," Fleur whimpered and shook her head, speaking to Harry. "I really can't … continue … in this."

But Harry stood there, watching Negura's rabid attack paralyzed.

"Harry, _please_, let's go!" Fleur screamed over Gaston's heart-rending cries.

Harry didn't hear her pleading. Instead of Gaston, he saw Ron … he heard him scream in terror while his life was slowly taken from him. He just saw it, unable to stop it...

"NO!" he yelled out and moved forward, but a thick mist covered the scene, obscuring his senses and he felt he was falling – or maybe flying upwards until the bright morning shine blinded his eyes.

Staggering backward Harry dropped heavily into the sofa, gasping for breath.

"Harry! What happen- Fleur! Are you all right, love?" Bill called out and then hugged his wife, who continued to sob quietly.

"It was 'orrendous, Bill, truly 'orrendous," she mumbled with a pronounced French accent.

Harry covered his face with his palms, trying to calm himself. Once it took the desired effect, he lay his hands in his lap and spoke in a quiet voice.

"Thank you, Fleur, for your courage and help. Now," he said and slowly stood up, "if I can ask one more thing, please never speak about what you've seen. Try to forget it - and you will be safe."

"Harry … you are not going to stand up against that … that 'orrible creature, are you?"

"I...," Harry hesitated. Her inquiry reminded him how little he actually learned form that memory and how insane it would be to confront Negura right now. He had hoped that after seeing what happened to Gaston, he would able to tell what Negura's Horcrux was or at least where to start searching for it. But now he hadn't discovered anything new except that the Horcrux was a small object made of silver. Which meant that it could be anything from a teaspoon to a pocket piece, and Negura had probably buried it ten feet underground somewhere in Romania or anywhere else.

"Damn it!" he cursed loudly, rubbing his forehead as he tried to chase away the headache.

It was the curious stares of both his friends that made Harry realize he'd forgotten to answer Fleur's question.

"I can try to avoid him," he muttered a passable lie, his lips curving into that compulsory smile again. "Well, eh… It was really great to see you again but I must be going now. I owe you a lot for giving me a helping hand when I needed it most."

"You really have no reason to feel obliged, Harry," Fleur said, smiling again. Safe in her husband's embrace, she seemed to quickly forget the previous traumatic experience.

As Harry took his Invisibility cloak from the sofa and crammed it under his armpit, he noticed how Bill kissed her ear lightly, whispering her some encouraging words. Feeling a stab of envy in his chest, he regretted looking at them. Though he squeezed his eyes shut right away, the burning memories of chilly, soft mouth touching his skin didn't leave, but gained in strength. It hurt so badly to see what he'd lost and know that there was no chance of retrieving it ever again.

Shaking it off with much difficulty, he opened his eyes again and said.

"I'm sure Kingsley will soon contact you about the news. Without a doubt, you will be informed about the whole rescue mission in a detail."

Bill calmly nodded, "I'll count on it. We'll be seeing each other soon, right?"

"Take care, Harry," Fleur whispered.

"Yeah, you too. See you later ... I hope," Harry breathed out, walked over to the door, opened them and stepped outside into the bright morning light.

_**R&R**_


	14. The Ministry of Magic

**Author's note:**

As an author of this story, I would like to use my privilege and dedicate this chapter to all the victims of the horrible massacre in Norway.

_You will never be forgotten. _

Further, I would like to thank to my beta, **TheSecretUchiha** for suggesting this dedication and also for proofreading this story.

Rating of the chapter: **T/M**

xxxxx

**The Ministry of Magic**

xxxxx

_Cliffs_ _close to the Shell Cottage_

_1__st_ _January 2001, 10:45_

Harry left the cottage and looked over the beautiful landscape. It was still serene and peaceful, a complete opposite to the war which was taking place inside his head. Deciding to take a short walk down a narrow pathway along the breathtaking cliffs, Harry stowed his hands in his pockets and set out in that direction. He needed to clear his mind and reconsider the whole mission over before making some crucial decision. Kingsley put it well when he said that he didn't stand a chance without a feasible plan.

Unfortunately, it wasn't very helpful. After several minutes of walking, gazing at the sea and considering every possibility, he came to the conclusion that he had basically only two plain options. One of them was a secret mission, where he would hide under the Invisibility cloak and try to break into the Ministry unseen. The main problem of this plan was that Negura expected him to come, which meant he would be keeping a close watch on Ron and Hermione. If that was the case – and Harry knew that it was – then a direct confrontation between them was inevitable. Having a cloak may give him some advantage, but it wouldn't be enough. Negura killed many much more experienced wizards who could make themselves invisible as well. It would be hard to fool his vampiric senses and practically impossible to defeat him in a magical duel.

Which led him to the second possibility which was – if anything – even more problematic.

Harry sat down on the cold, hard rock, looking over the thundering sea. The sun still shone mildly, but there were dark clouds rolling at the horizon, signalling an approaching storm.

"A small, silver object...," he whispered, watching the seagulls soaring in the sky.

Indeed, trying to locate and destroy a Horcrux about which he knew practically nothing could prove to be difficult. If Hermione were here, she would probably snap at him that he was being preposterous. Harry didn't feel like having another choice, though. In addition, the longer he considered it the more the idea of attacking Negura's sole weakness tempted him. Surely, after hunting down so many dark lords, Negura had to feel a bit paranoid. Unlike Voldemort who was at the beginning certain of his absolute invincibility, Negura seemed to be a little more careful. Even if he considered himself more special than anyone else, Harry could tell that he felt threatened. If he didn't feel he was in danger, he wouldn't have attacked the Burrow. He wouldn't be in such a rush to meet him face to face and have a death match. Feeling jeopardized, Harry assumed that Negura would want to keep his Horcrux close like Voldemort did his Naginy. He needed to constantly reassure himself that it was safe.

From that point of view, Negura's Horcrux was hardly buried somewhere in the Romania, but possibly dangling around his neck just like Gaston had thought. It seemed logical that being a young Auror without much experience, Negura didn't have much chances to obtain a more valuable object than the Order of Merlin. Such a decoration had to made him proud of himself more than anything else.

And yet, he didn't hide his soul inside that medal which meant that he valued something more than his fame. After all, he renounced his glory in order to carry out his eternal revenge.

Harry rubbed his forehead. Now he was able to see Gaston's fatal mistake. Negura didn't care about the honours as he did about the eternal vengeance in the name of his slaughtered family. It was without question that the Horcrux was somehow connected to his deceased family members. It could be a brooch belonging to his mother, a hand-glass of his sister, his wife's silver necklace, it could be his father's snuffbox or maybe his brother's first earned silver coin.

Whatever it was, one thing Harry knew for sure. It belonged to someone who he loved the most and who he missed the most. And he would be ready to protect it with all his might.

Harry slowly stood up.

He had to choose now.

First or second option?

But he made that decision already. He couldn't fool Negura and liberate his friends without him knowing about it. Besides, he didn't want to sneak in there like a thief who was bound to be caught. No, he will enter the Ministry with his head high and confront him like an equal. He would try to discover and destroy the Horcrux on the first chance he got. Ron and Hermione had to live regardless of the price he would pay.

But first, he needed to go back to the Burrow, find Hermione's handbag and retrieve the Basilisk's fang.

The sun hid behind the clouds and the mild breeze turned colder and stronger. Harry tore his eyes off the sky and fastened his jacket. Then he pulled out his wand, feeling the magic instantly building up at his fingertips.

He focused on that warm tingling, let it flow down his arm until it scorched him.

"_Reducto!"_ he called out, pointing his wand at the distant rock towering above the others. The curse hit the solid surface and blasted it apart, huge stones tumbling into the sea.

As Harry watched it crumble apart, he found himself thinking of Voldemort though he strictly forbade himself to do that. But he was missing him so much that he couldn't simply stop himself. Just a single thought of him shortened his breath and made his heart beat faster. He regretted all those hateful things he said, no matter how much Riddle deserved to hear them. The feeling of rage at the betrayal was nothing compared to this emotional void and desolation in his soul after breaking up with him. He had to admit that it was somehow beneficial to be tormented by the fear for his friends, as only that was powerful enough to hold his grief at a bay.

But Harry couldn't just take back what happened between them. Not the good things and also not the bad things. In the end, they had to go separate ways for Voldemort chose a path where he couldn't follow him. It _tortured_ him to know it. He ached so much that he could finally understand Voldemort's fierce hatred towards any form of love, if this was what happened when it was lost. No matter what Dumbledore thought about his special power over the Dark Lord, Harry noticed that it only weakened him instead of making him stronger. It would be so much easier if he could get rid of the pain in his heart which suffocated him. How could a suffering man win any battle? And if humanity was defined through this pain as Dumbledore told him once, then who would want to be human? Why it was so damn understandable that Voldemort decided to pick the easy way?

Harry sighed and shook his head.

Maybe easy, but surely not right. He would never hurt anyone to make his own life more bearable. He cared too much for everyone, even for those who weren't really worth it, as Ron often told him.

Thinking of his best friend, Harry felt that he was through with the lamenting over his broken heart. It was time to put the feelings aside and go face another great challenge.

Looking for one last time at the cottage in the distance, Harry gripped the wand tightly in his hand and with an image of Burrow in his thoughts he spun on the spot to Disapparate.

xxxxx

_London_

_1__st_ _January 2001, 12:10_

So he couldn't get to the Ministry.

Having a Basilisk's fang in his pocket, the alder wand in his hand and the Invisibility cloak stuffed beneath his jacket, Harry paced around on the pavement in the drizzle, watching the surrounding grey buildings towering into the equally grey sky and pondering about this little nuisance.

Negura had to encompass the Ministry by protective enchantments, disallowing any Apparation. With the help of Ministry-obedient Aurors who didn't care who was the ruler as long as they had some job to do, blocking the entrance was an easy task. It didn't go unnoticed by Harry that the Leader expected a significantly larger counter attack than his one-man show.

This blockade was an unpleasant complication. Harry didn't have a time to modify the plan for the sun was due to set in about four hours. After that his friends would most likely by dead by the time he reached them.

But how else could he get to the Ministry since he couldn't Apparate inside, nor he couldn't use the usual access through the Floo Network from the Burrow?

Looking around, his eyes fell on an ostentatiously red phone box standing at a corner and suddenly he was struck by an idea.

"Visitor's entrance!" Harry groaned and slapped his forehead. How could he forget?

Just because he didn't _have to_ use it for the past five years, it didn't mean he _couldn't_ use it now.

Running around the blocks in haste, Harry searched every turning until he recognized the shabby-looking offices he was looking for. The battered telephone box was still there just as the dingy pub and the always overflowing dumpster.

"This is it," Harry breathed out, opened the mangled door and seized the cracked receiver, immediately dialing six – two – four – four – two. Hopefully, he remembered the numbers correctly.

And then, just like five years ago, the cool woman's voice resounded inside the cabin.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Harry Potter," Harry said and gritted teeth. "Well... I'm here to save someone _again_, since the Ministry cannot do it first – _again._"

"Thank you," said the female voice. "Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

After a click and a rattle a silver badge slid out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared.

Harry scooped it up, glancing at it briefly. It read: '_Harry Potter, Rescue Mission - AGAIN.'_

"Great," Harry muttered and pinned it to his jacket as the cool female voice spoke to him once more.

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium. The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

"I'm sure it does," Harry said bitingly as the box shuddered and the pavement rose up past its glass windows. The blackness surrounded him all the way down as he sank into the depths of the Ministry.

The box stopped with another slight shudder. Though Harry expected it, he was still surprised by the lack of golden light illuminating the Atrium. Everything was dark and dimmed and more importantly – empty. No fires burned under the mantelpieces, no wizards and witches rushed to fulfill their everyday duties. It could be as well a midnight there, Harry wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

He opened the door and slowly stepped out, squeezing the wand in his hand tighter.

The first thing that hit his nose was the stench of blood. Mild and diluted, but still omnipotent. Harry covered his mouth with a back of his hand as he felt an instant urge to retch.

How was it possible, he thought in horror as he looked around, that the Daily Prophet still pretended that everything was all right and that the Ministry was merely doing the best in fighting Voldemort who was supposed to be responsible for all of that? Were they blind or something?

Harry clenched his teeth tighter and forced himself to move further from the telephone box. He ought to be prepared for this. He shouldn't let himself be distracted so easily.

As he walked towards the fountain, as he passed it and even as he approached the golden gates, Harry's only companion was a silent echo of his footsteps.

But the feeling of being a little rabbit who foolishly enters the predator's liar increased with every footstep he took. The beast's eyes were already watching him, he could feel how it made his skin tingle. Harry wiped his sweaty palm into his jeans and took several calming breaths.

The security desk beside the gates was empty, he noted duly as he moved further, heading towards the lifts. The fact that no one was standing there didn't really surprise him. He would be more taken aback to see someone alive here in this horrible place. If only his friends...

"Harry Potter, am I right?"

Harry froze in the mid-step and briskly spun around. He hadn't noticed that someone was following him. He didn't hear a thing!

"But of course you are him. We've met before, remember?"

Yes, unfortunately Harry did remember. His wand automatically twitched in his hand at the sudden rush of anger and detestation.

"Nestor Desalmado," he grimaced, while the vampire approach him and pulled down his cape.

"Bravo! You are brighter than I thought, boy," Desalmado sneered. "Though I have no real interest in your brains … it's your blood what attracts me. It's so sweet and savoury."

"Take me to Negura," Harry cut him off coldly.

"Oh … am I not worthy of your time?" the vampire chuckled, edging so close to Harry that he had to resist the urge to recede.

"Obviously not," Desalmado sighed, adjusting a black tie on his perfect, surprisingly Muggle-like suit beneath his long cloak. "Dragomir told me that you'll be searching for him. Only he didn't reckon you would come alone. He will be disappointed that you haven't fetched your friends. We could have had a great time together."

"Nothing can makes me more happy than failing your expectation," Harry snapped icily.

Desalmado's smirk turned even nastier and he began to twirl a tiny, silver ring around his little finger.

"Take me to him," Harry repeated evenly, but his calmness was just a pretense. Desalmado was thirsty, Harry could tell that from the manic glint in his deep grey eyes and from the repulsive way he licked his lips every five seconds. Only the thought of his friends was stronger than Harry's self-preserving impulses which urged him to get out of here immediately.

"What an impudent boy you are," Nestor whispered with false sweetness. "I would like to _play_ with you very much, if only Dragomir let me. It's truly unfortunate that he wants to talk to you too."

Then he turned his back to Harry, striding away, awfully sure of himself. Harry followed him shortly afterward, cursing quietly under his breath.

They stepped inside the lift and the golden grille shut with a crash behind Harry's back.

"Level two," Desalmado said curtly and the lift began to ascend.

Those two spoken words made Harry think quickly. Now he knew where they headed and it both surprised him and confused him. The Auror's Office was surely the most unexpected place for Negura to choose. Wasn't he aware that most of the Aurors weren't listening to his orders anymore? Or have they left already and joined Kingsley? Or has Negura turned them all into vampires on the first occasion?

"Fascinating," Nestor spoke, bringing Harry out of his muse. "You don't seem to be afraid. Usually, the mortals beg on their knees when their end is approaching, while you are so … composed. You must know that Dragomir intends to kill you."

"Spare your comments for someone who wants to hear them," Harry whispered acidly.

It was entirely satisfying experience to see that haughty smile disappear.

"As you wish," Desalmado snarled. "Since you don't want to know anything about your little friends, I won't bother..."

Harry's wand sprung up so fast that he nearly poke the vampire's eye out.

"WHAT?-! What have you done to them?-! What have you done to RON AND HERMIONE?-!" Harry bellowed, fear and anger gripping him with a crushing force.

"Tsk, easy boy," the vampire tutted, pushing Harry's wand out of his face. "You will see them soon."

The lift slowed down until it came to a full stop.

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services," said the cool female voice from the telephone box as the door swung open.

Neither Harry, nor Desalmado moved at first.

"Come on, tasty one," the vampire finally whispered, backing slowly into the passageway. "Don't keep my Leader waiting..." he grinned mockingly.

Harry's legs moved over his great restraint. Since he went that far to find his friends, he couldn't stop now. They still had a chance to survive this all, he assured himself as he followed Nestor into a long corridor lined with doors. They had to live. He couldn't imagine what he would do if … _if_...

_If __he was too late__..._

"After you, Potter," Nestor smirked, stepping aside from the half-opened ebony door with a plaque which read: _The Highest Advisor to the Minister_. The way it glittered on the black surface heightened the true meaning of the words. The Highest Advisor – higher than anyone, even Umbridge herself. Though she was too blinded by the possession of the most powerful wand to see reality anymore. As Harry stared at it, he noticed a blank space above it, reserved for the person's name. Nothing was written there, indicating that Negura still tried to preserve the remnants of his secrecy.

Harry took a deep breath, clutched his wand tighter and touched the edge of the Basilisk's fang protruding through the rough denim of his jeans. He had to suppress the urge to pull it out. No need to show Negura in advance what he was up to.

Raising his hand, he slowly pushed at the door until it fully opened.

He entered and he was instantly taken aback by the sudden brightness.

It took his eyes a couple of seconds to accommodate to it. The huge windows at the other side of the room were uncovered, revealing the light grey sky behind them. But that wasn't the main source of the radiance and glitter.

Harry froze. Nearly everything in the room was made of silver. There were silver mirrors on the walls, paintings were hanging in silver frames, silver cups and dishes were piled on small, silver cabinets standing along the wall. Another copious amount of silver junk lay in a heap on the large desk opposite the door. It consisted of little boxes, pens, clamps and pins, also some jewelry and many other useless things which Harry had problems to identify.

Finally, Harry's eyes fell upon the person sitting behind that table. He was clad in the dark robes which were adorned by two lines of silver buttons. A large, silver pendant was dangling above his chest as his trunk was slightly bent forward and his elbows rested on the table while his folded hands supported his well-defined chin. There were two silver rings on his fingers, one with a blue gem and the other one without it as Harry noticed.

He sat unmoving, but his navy blue eyes appeared very dark from a distance.

Harry quickly looked away.

"Good afternoon, Harry Potter," the man broke the silence and slowly rose from his chair. "I was wondering whether you would come. Good to know I wasn't hoping in vain."

Harry idly wondered why was Negura trying to hide his beastly face behind that obnoxious mask of feigned politeness. On any other occasion he would directly ask him to drop it. Not now though, when a hidden hostility seeped from Negura's every smile and kind word. He rather stayed quiet and turned his attention back to the table sagging under the silvery trash.

It was evident that Negura expected him to go after his Horcrux. Judging from his stiff position, the vampire kept it close as he predicted. Harry realized he needed to be very observant if he wanted to discover which object should he attack.

"Tell me, Harry, how do you like the new decoration of my office?" Negura continued cheerily. "Nice, isn't it? Now that you know about my _weak spot_ for silver, I believe you appreciate it as well, don't you?"

His voice was still pleasant, though becoming more constrained and chilly.

Harry struggled to keep his face still and voice emotionless. He needed play this game without the vampire seeing into his cards.

"Where are my friends?" he asked as calmly as he could.

Negura slid his hand over the smooth edge of the table and seized his wand which lay beside a silver cup of tea. Only then he looked up at him again and then at Desalmado who stood somewhere behind Harry, sniggering quietly.

Harry didn't move. He steadily watched Negura's hands, avoiding looking directly into his mind numbing eyes.

"Tell me about Voldemort first," the vampire said softly. "I wonder, how is it possible that he refused to accompany you?"

Harry bit the inner part of his lower lip hard.

"And why exactly should he come?" he said matter-of-factly, as if the mention of that name didn't affect him at all. "He hardly cares about my friends … or about me," Harry added, his voice faltering a little.

The curious expression etched in Negura's long face drooped a little.

"Interesting," he whispered. "Has he grown tired of you already? Too bad … for you."

Harry squared up his shoulders, refusing to be distracted. He needed to stay focused as long as possible.

"I didn't come here to discuss him," he said resolutely. "I came for my friends. Let them go home. They're no threat to you. This is just between you and I."

"Oh, but that's where you are quite wrong, dear Harry," Negura laughed, standing up slowly. "They helped you reveal my secret. You know what fate awaits them..."

"NO!" Harry screamed, casting the Stunning Spell impulsively, but missed the target and the spell rebounded on the window and almost hit him on its way back.

Negura whispered something in Romanian and a weird dark blue light rushed out of his wand towards him. Harry immediately recognized the curse. He remembered how it blasted his wand apart the last time, hurting him badly in the process. Refusing to meet the same consequences again, he focused on that tingling of magic in his hand and let it flow through the wand with the counter curse.

"_Protego!"_ he screamed and the Leader's curse hit the invisible barrier, shattering against it.

"He's been teaching you," Negura gasped and lowered his wand a little. "I can see the difference."

Then he clicked his tongue against his palate with dissatisfaction.

"But it's still not enough."

He snapped his fingers and the next second Harry was attacked from behind. He didn't even see the vampires who knocked him down to the floor, but he felt their savage, cold hands gripping him with an inhuman force, disarming him and holding him down as the long ropes were fastened around his body, stripping him of any defense.

He tried to heave himself from the floor, but someone kicked him in the ribs, threw him against the desk, lifted him again and slammed against one of the stone pillars supporting the ceiling.

Harry's whole head throbbed painfully. He felt a trickle of blood running down his temple, dripping from his chin. His breath ran short as the tight cords incised his skin, attaching him firmly to the cold stone.

"Lesson number one, Potter. I don't always play fair," Negura said icily. "You've forgotten that I'm not Lord Voldemort who is – or was – obsessed with defeating you himself. Actually, I don't care about who finishes you as long as you're out of my way."

Harry opened his eyes, blinking quickly to get the irritating dust out of them. With his glasses askew, barely holding on a tip of his nose, his surroundings turned into one big colourful blur.

"Bring the prisoners," Negura ordered someone curtly.

Harry closed his eyelids again, breathing loudly through his nose.

A cold hand touched his bleeding temple and pushed the glasses back up his nose.

Instinctively, Harry jerked his head backward looking up at Desalmado who watched him hungrily.

"He's so … alluring," he whispered, his voice raspy.

"Still unable to resist the call of fresh blood, Nestor?"

"My Leader..."

Desalmado immediately took a step back, bowing his head, but Harry saw how he quickly licked the bloodied forefinger.

"You must admit that he's a delicious treat," he said apologetically. "Why can't I keep him as my little plaything?"

"Because I said so," Negura snapped. "No one will be standing between me and Voldemort."

"But you don't need another dark lord, Dragomir! You have me!" Desalmado protested weakly, raising his hand, showing him a silver ring on his little finger.

Negura slapped that hand away with an angry hiss and Nestor fell on his knees, catching the hand which hit him, kissing it over and over as he muttered some words in Romanian, his voice soft and apologetic.

"I've lost Gaston," Negura snarled icily, turning to look at Harry who watched the scene with a mild disgust.

"He was too careless in his grief, too eager to get revenge. He made a tragic mistake... But I will make the Order of the Phoenix pay for that..."

His face turned into a cold grimace.

"And especially you, Potter, for making them stand up against me."

As if on his command, the large ebony door suddenly burst open and Harry's heart literally plummeted into his feet when he heard the all too familiar voice.

"I said stop touching her _now_ you filthy, vile monster!"

"RON!" he cried out. "HERMIONE!"

And then he saw them. They were dragged inside, their limbs shackled, dirty all over, their faces pale and scared, but the only thing – the most important thing – which really mattered to Harry was that they were both _alive_.

Hermione's large, brown eyes found his and she called his name back in terror, followed by Ron's shriek shortly afterward.

"Harry! HARRY!"

"Ron! Hermione!" Harry gasped.

"Let them go!" he howled then and wildly tugged at the ropes which tied him to the pillar, but his reaction merely stirred up another burst of laughter from Desalmado. Negura didn't comment on it as he approached him again, carrying a strange, small box, which was surprisingly black and not silver.

"I think I could spare them, Potter," he said then. "Hypothetically, I could wipe off their memories and give them freedom if that's what you want the most. The question is, how much are you willing to sacrifice for that?"

"Anything," Harry said through his teeth.

"Really?"

"No! Harry! Don't listen to him!" Ron shouted out, squirming in a clutch of his jailer.

Harry pressed his lips more tightly together.

"Yes," he confirmed with a sharp nod.

"We'll see. I'm very curious, where your loyalties lie, Harry," the vampire said softly, ignoring Ron's unceasing protests.

"I found this small box in the ruins of Voldemort's previous quarters," he said then and raised the object higher so Harry could have a better look. "It's fascinating that it sustained the blaze of the Fiendfyre, isn't it? It is well protected by a powerful magic which implies a lot about its importance for Voldemort. I want to know what is hidden inside and you will open it for me. Help me, Harry Potter, and your friends will live. Refuse and they'll _die_."

Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express his loathing towards Negura, nor his doubts and uncertainties about Voldemort as he stared at the small chest with an engraved snake on its lid. What could be inside? What was Voldemort hiding from him? Had he made a wrong presumption when he thought that Voldemort couldn't split his soul further? Did the Dark Lord, after he learned that his diary was destroyed, quickly make another one to reach the magical number of seven?

If that was the case, what will he do?

Open it and watch Negura destroy maybe the crucial piece of his soul or not open it and watch the vampire murder his dearest people? Few weeks ago, his decision would be all too simple. But now ... everything changed. No matter which option he chose, it would mean a death sentence for someone he loved. How could he even make such an impossible choice?

"I can't open it," he heard himself whisper stiffly. "I don't know how," he added a blatant lie.

"Don't you? My dear godson told me that you are a Parselmouth. I'm sure that it will suffice," Negura said slyly. "By the way, if you attempt to lie to me again, you will have to face the consequences."

Harry quickly sought out the faces of his friends. It was nearly impossible to hide his panic now.

"Look, I really don't know why would Draco say such a..."

"Kill her!" Negura snapped at an ugly, scarred vampire who held Hermione under her armpit.

"NO!" Harry and Ron both bellowed at the same moment.

Hermione screeched as the monster grasped her wild hair, pulling her closer and revealing her throat. Harry's mind clouded pure horror.

"NO! NO! I'LL DO IT! PLEASE! RELEASE HER!"

Negura raised his hand and whispered.

"Wait a moment, Brutus."

Then he turned to Harry.

"I … I'll … open it," Harry choked out, his heart bleeding. He closed his eyes and saw his face, he saw him in his head. Voldemort was just looking at him, not saying anything.

"Forgive me…," he barely managed to breathe out.

Negura smiled again, fully satisfied with himself.

"So you are willing to sacrifice your beloved Dark Lord … in sake of your friends. I must remember to tell him that before he dies."

"What's the matter?" Harry heard Ron's whisper through the mist of pain. "I don't understand it. What should it bother Harry at all?"

"You knew what love is," Harry forced through his clenched throat, speaking directly to Negura. "But you've renounced it and that's what makes you a far worse dark wizard than Voldemort could ever be! I bet your wife would spit in your face for besmirching her memory with all that blood of innocents on your hands! Burn in hell, MONSTER!"

"Harry, no!" Hermione gasped as Brutus tugged harshly at her hair, infuriated by Harry's words.

Negura turned to him, all his muscles stiff except of his jaws, which moved a little as he repeatedly clenched them. For a second Harry almost wished he would kill him.

"_Crucio!"_

His mouth fell open as a horrible pain obliterated his thoughts. He was thrown into the flames again and baked alive. The agony mounted with his every heartbeat and Harry couldn't hold back his screams anymore. Soon his muscles would surely have to rupture and his bones shatter … the pain was driving him insane and it was still worsening….

And then it stopped and he slumped down, gasping for breath uncontrollably. He heard Hermione's sobs and Ron's vicious snarls and also … another voice.

"What is going on here?"

Harry opened his eyes a bit, then he closed them and opened them again.

"What is Potter doing here?"

Harry's eyesight cleared and he raised his head and saw no other then the Minister for Magic in her ugliest sweet pink suit, standing beside Negura, rapping the Elder wand irritably against her palm.

"He was being tortured!" Hermione screamed out tearfully, drawing Umbridge's attention.

Dolores quickly looked at her, her toad-like face widening in a malicious glee.

"Was he?" she whispered, caressing her wand now. "That's good. All incorrigible rioters like Potter must be taught how to behave correctly."

"You!" Ron bellowed but she just flicked the wand and Harry's best friend doubled over in pain.

"And all his little friends should follow his example," she said sweetly before turning to Negura.

"It's nice to see that you're trying to teach them a lesson of manners, Leader, however, do not forget about our priorities. I have to ask again. Where is You-Know-Who? Why isn't he dead already?"

"Soon, Minister," Negura whispered with a false smile.

"Yes, yes. I've heard that one before, so don't make me wait too long. I honestly can't stand all these vampires in my Ministry," she retorted flippantly.

Negura said nothing, only his eyes turned ice cold as he watched her.

Becoming slightly nervous under his stare, Dolores turned on her heel, quickly striding away.

Harry didn't even consider it possible that she would be willing to help them.

No, she would much rather watch them all die a horrible death.

The door closed loudly behind her and Harry's head dropped to his chest in exhaustion. But the cursed black box was back before his eyes again. When Negura spoke to him again, his voice was detached and cruel, suiting his personality much better than the previous pleasant tones.

"Your last chance, Potter."

Harry didn't raise his head. He only stared numbly at the object in Leader's hands, learning the true depth of his sadism.

He had to open it and yet, what guarantee he had that Negura will let his friends go? None at all. Still, Ron and Hermione deserved much better than this. He had to give them a chance as it was the only thing he could do at the moment.

Forcing his lips to move, he whispered brokenly.

_**"**__**Open."**_

The box obeyed his command with a soft snap and Negura grinned victoriously, pushing the lid quickly aside.

Harry squirmed under the ropes. Furtively, yet desperately he tried to reach for the fang in his pocket. Right now he wouldn't mind having to stab every piece of silver junk in the room just to see some anguish on Negura's smug face.

The vampire meanwhile reached inside the box and pulled out a small but thick book, turning it over, inspecting it.

With a simple brown leather cover and slightly yellowed pages which no one apparently browsed in a long time, the first thing which occurred to Harry was that he was looking at another Tom Riddle's diary. His heart sank a little. Has Voldemort really made himself another Horcrux after all?

Negura put the book between his palms and closed his eyes, apparently trying to detect a living piece of soul inside. A moment later, he looked up, disappointed and Harry felt a weird, inexplicable relief.

"When it is not alive," Negura whispered, confirming Harry's suspicion, "what's the reason to hide it?"

"Maybe it contains something what shames Voldemort. Could it be some lewd, gay literature perhaps?" Nestor suggested whimsically, receiving a scathing glare from the Leader in return.

"But he _is _a fairy," Desalmado whispered defensively, when Negura looked back at the pages and began to read them promptly. "Just like Potter," he added with a malicious grin.

"YOU-! Speak for yourself, you freak!" Ron spat before Harry could react to that intended offense.

Nestor looked surprised at first that Ron found a courage to snap at him. Then he smiled, pleased by his attention.

"I don't make much difference between males and females … when it comes to the mortals," he whispered, leaning closer to Ron who turned several shades paler. Just a little more and the colour of his skin could compete with Voldemort's snowy tones. "Because the only thing which matters to every vampire is the smell of blood. For example, Potter's flavour is much more pleasant than yours," Nestor explained softly, "which, however, doesn't mean that biting into your neck wouldn't bring me the highest pleasure..."

"Enough talk," Negura interrupted him suddenly and closed the book loudly.

"It's time to act, Nestor. Gather everyone in the Atrium and get ready! We will have another _visitor_ in a couple of minutes. Brutus, you go help him. And these two-," he pointed at Ron and Hermione, "they are joining us. Take them along."

For a second Harry's stunned mind didn't comprehend it. And then he screamed.

"NO! NO!" he yelled, twisting like a madman in the ropes.

"They'll be given immortal life!" Negura shouted over Ron's and Hermione's horrified gasps. "Unlike you, Potter! Because you are going to _die right now_!" he added acidly, his face twisted by rage.

"NOOO! RON! HERMIONE!" Harry raved, bruising his limbs, hurting his muscles as he fought the ropes which didn't move an inch.

And then they were gone; his friends were hauled away to face the most horrible fate.

"YOU M-MONSTER!" Harry screeched, his voice lapsing.

Negura ostentatiously ignored him, his eyes skimming the pages of the book again.

"Lesson number two, Potter," the vampire said quietly once Harry needed to take in some breath. "I do not always speak truth. Why does it surprise you, I wonder?"

"FUCK Y...!"

With a flick of his wand Negura silenced him. Harry didn't care, he was still frantically trying to tear apart the tight cords.

"You'll never learn," the vampire added evenly.

'Die!' Harry mouthed, gasping.

"_You_ will die in a minute. The moment Voldemort comes here and sees your corpse, he will be mine! Yes, the moment of my victory comes! I've been waiting for it for almost forty years!" Negura said harshly.

'You will not defeat him!' Harry retorted without a sound, but Negura just laughed.

Over that waging terror in his head, Harry noticed something unusual about Negura's victorious speech. He seemed too irate for someone in his position. Could it be because of that book? But in Harry's current state of mind, he couldn't bring himself to think about it. He needed to get out of here and stop Negura's flunkeys from killing Ron and Hermione!

"Voldemort will break once I show him your corpse!" Negura spat at him. "I'm certain of it because of this!" he snapped, raising the book a little higher. "This book _reflects_ his soul, Potter! It contains everything what he's been thinking and feeling since the moment of his rebirth till this very minute! All of that is written in here. And I must say you made quite an impact on him on the last couple of pages!"

Harry stared at him, his lips set into a tight line. His fingers couldn't reach the fang. He missed just a fraction of inch. It was hopeless and his mind slowly began to drown in anguish.

"Now let me quote some interesting parts!" Negura snarled into his apathetic face. "What would you say about his dreams where you're starring in every night? Oh yes, Nestor was right when he said that it is _shameful _reading! But there are other, more important things..."

He turned the page, his mouth curling in fury as he began to read, imitating Voldemort's high, cold voice.

"_How can I pretend that I breathe when there's no air around me? How can I pretend that I see when __the Light_ _burned my eyes? There__'s nothing left. N__othing to be happy about and nothing to be mad about, nothing to look for and nothing to hope for. My powers, my whole existence, all of that is insignificant compared to that infinite emptiness. Without him there's no past __for me to_ _regret and there's no future to look forward to. I have nothing to lose. __I've already lost everything."_

Negura looked up, meeting Harry's eyes.

"What have you done to him, Harry Potter?" he hissed releasing the spell which held Harry's tongue tied.

Harry didn't answer right away. He felt _dirty_, disgusted by himself. Not only he didn't managed to save Ron and Hermione, which only started to weight on him now, but he also gave Negura the key to the Dark Lords heart. If he had an idea that Voldemort felt that way about him, he would never be that harsh...

"I know I hurt him and I'm sorry for that. But he hurt me too. Yes, he can be cruel, heartless criminal … but it's still nothing compared to you," he whispered. "And he's far stronger than you think, Negura! No, he will not break because of me! He will defeat you, he will…!"

"He's all crazy about losing you, Potter! But that will change soon. He will be mine. Only MINE!"

The cold fingers squeezed Harry's throat. Once he realized what Negura was doing he desperately tried to take more of air into his lungs. It was to no avail, his airways were already too tightly closed.

"He … will...," Harry managed to whisper, but the clutch only tightened, making the room spin around him. Harry couldn't fight it, he was entirely helpless. Maybe it was a good time for regrets, for he regretted disappointing his friends and misjudging Voldemort so much. And more than ever before he regretted not telling him how he felt about him...

A touch of a leather sliding against his chest as Negura pushed the book behind his shirt, saying something about keeping his lover close to his heart in his last moment, and Harry redoubled his efforts.

He just needed to breathe so much that it hurt.

"Tom," he mouthed as the darkness began to cloud his senses … and then the clutch disappeared.

An amazingly cool, fresh air rushed into his sore lungs.

"What is it, Nestor?-!" he heard Negura's angry voice from the distance.

"He is here, Dragomir. And he's not alone!" said a distressed voice.

"And who could Voldemort bring along aside his _twenty_ Death Eaters?" the Leader snapped.

"It's horrible my Leader! He brought … he brought the most dirty … filthy … existences of all! INFERI!" Desalmado cried out. "He broke in from the surface, blowing away a half of the ceiling! And now there are hundreds of these corpses down in the Atrium! They are all like rabid dogs!"

A curse in Romanian made Harry smile weakly. Voldemort was an amazing wizard, Harry never doubted that. A new life rushed into his veins. He managed to touch the Basilisk's fang already. Now he just needed to pull it out and cut those ropes with it. Maybe his friends were still alive when the vampires were preoccupied with the Inferi. Maybe he could still hope...

"Sorry, Potter," Negura said strictly, coming back to him. "It seems I have to end our little session right now. As you see, I have an urgent appointment to attend to."

And he grasped his head and pulled at it in the most unnatural angle.

"No! Dragomir! Please, don't kill him like that! It's such a horrible waste!" Nestor yelped, running over the room to them. "I'll do it for you … a little later. Just let me take his blood. I need to gain some strength for the battle."

The Leader hesitated. Then he slowly let go of Harry's chin.

"Hurry up then," he ordered in a blank voice and took a step backward. "But he _must_ die, Nestor. Do not disappoint me." He glanced at Harry for one last time and then he was gone like a shadow dissolving in the sun.

"Finally alone, Harry," Desalmado whispered, barely louder than distant screams and eruptions which reached Harry's ears. He wondered why he didn't hear them before.

"You've ignored my warnings, you've chosen the wrong path … and you see, here it ends."

"Tell me, Desalmado, are you afraid of me?" Harry countered in a rough voice. "You call yourself a vampire, a hunter and yet you are unable to face me like one. Set me free and we will see which one of us is better."

"Oh, boy... Your teenage psychology won't work with me," Nestor shook his head, caressing the small, silver ring on his little finger. "I must not disappoint my Leader."

He stepped closer to Harry who watched him with disgust.

"Still not begging, Harry?" Nestor whispered, running his fingertip over the pulse point beneath Harry's ear.

"Your friends were so much better about it. Screaming in horror when I left them to my hungry comrades."

"You … What?" Harry gasped.

"They are dead, Harry. Dead. Either sucked dry, or torn apart. Possibly both."

"No..."

"Yes, it was very funny. Pity I couldn't watch it till the very end since your snake-like boyfriend decided to make a sudden appearance."

"No... YOU LIAR!"

"The girl's cries were quite captivating. And the boy's – he could make even dead eyes cry..."

Harry didn't listen anymore. He stopped thinking, feeling, perceiving anything beside the blinding rage. The ropes which were binding him to the pillar were gone. He didn't know how was it possible, but he had torn them apart. And he launched himself at the vampire, slamming into him with a brutal force, pinning him to the floor.

Desalmado threw him off just as quickly and they rolled over, kicking and hitting each other, until Harry got the upper hand again, breaking his jaw with a well-aimed punch.

"So … how … are … you," Harry gasped as he nailed him down with a heavy silver chair, "going to … kill me now with your chops split, freak?-!"

With an bestial growl, Desalmado attacked. He knocked Harry down, smothered him with his weight and his fangs instantly pierced the muscle at a base of Harry's neck.

And Harry screamed. The pain would surely paralyze him if he weren't past any physical suffering. Nothing could really hurt him now. He slammed his elbow into the vampire's ribs and grasped the Basilisk's fang which nearly fell from his pocket. Desalmado retreated a little and that was enough for Harry to turn around and before the vampire could attack his neck again, he thrust his hand upward and stabbed Desalmado's chest.

Horror. Surprise. Disbelief. All of that was reflected in the wide, grey eyes.

"Potter...," he breathed out wheezily and Harry pushed him away roughly. Desalmado gasped as if he needed to breathe and then his body curled in spasms.

Harry slowly retreated, holding his bleeding wound, unsure of what will happen. Could the Basilisk's venom kill a vampire? He didn't know that much about these undead beasts.

Desalmado cried out again and crawled pathetically a couple of feet away from him, tugging at his little finger, grasping the ring which fell off it, squeezing it in his palm.

"Dragomir … Drago...," he gasped.

His lips moved once or twice more but then his body slacked, the ring falling from his opened palm with a soft chink. Seeing how Desalmado's body began to decompose quickly, Harry closed his eyes and lay down on the floor heavily. The wound on his shoulder was deep. He felt more and more of his blood run down over his chest, sticking the book and the shirt to his skin.

He knew he had to get up and seek out Negura.

If only he weren't so tired that he barely managed to open his eyelids.

But he needed to know the truth. After another minute he forced himself to get up. Tottering slightly he came to the large table, searching in the copious amount of silver trinkets for anything worth attention. He had to start somewhere.

The sounds of the fight were getting closer, speeding up his movements. Harry opened the first drawer, pulling out dozens of wands among which he found the ones which belonged to Ron and Hermione, his new Alder wand and also Draco's old one which was his until the cave incident.

Grasping all four of them, Harry pushed the other three into his back pocket, while keeping the hawthorn wand.

"_Accio Horcrux,"_ he whispered but as he already expected, nothing happened. Either the object was magically protected, or more likely Negura kept it by himself. Harry stumbled back to Desalmado's skeleton and pulled out the Basilisk's fang from his chest. As he straightened his back, his sight involuntarily fell on the small, silver ring beside the dead vampire's hand.

"_You don't need another dark lord, Dragomir! You have me!" _His words continued to ring in Harry's ears and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Why did Negura slapped away Desalmado's hand when he showed him the ring? Could it mean that...?

"Nonsense," he muttered and shook his head. Still, leaned down and seized it in his fingers. It was very small, glittering innocently. After the shortest contemplation he put it into his pocket, then pulled out the Invisibility cloak from beneath his jacket, cleaned it of his blood and draped it over himself.

Stumbling outside the room, he headed for the lift again. He nearly collided with three creatures running down the corridor. A vampire chased by two deteriorating Inferi was such an obscure sight, that Harry actually halted and turned to watch them. They were gone as quickly as they appeared and he entered the lift, pressing the 'Atrium' button. As it began to descend, Harry's dread began to mount again.

The ride seemed endless, and Harry doubted he had enough courage to face what was to come. All those awful possibilities, one worse than another...

With the soft chink the lift stopped and the golden grille slid away, revealing a truly apocalyptic spectacle. The gates of hell had to open here for there was no way that noise; that stench of decaying flesh; those raw, brutal images of vampires and Inferi tearing each other apart could belong to the normal world.

Harry's stomach flipped over several times but it didn't stop him from stepping out of the lift and start searching for his two – actually three – precious people. He quickly advanced forward, using his wand to clear the way to the fountain which he intended to use as a lookout. There were some Aurors behind the security counter, slaying everything what moved, though it hardly mattered as they were outnumbered a hundred times over. For a moment Harry thought he saw Ron and Hermione among them but it was just wishful thinking.

Turning his attention back to the fountain, Harry covered the remaining distance with some difficulty and jumped into the pool of reddened water, kicking away the floating limbs. He began to climb on the highest statue of the wizard when he thought he heard a familiar voice shout out somewhere nearby. Straddling the golden centaur instead, Harry pushed the cloak down on his shoulders so he could take a better look around.

The mass of bodies was so compact that looking out for single person in it seemed an impossible task. The only wizards which he saw from his viewpoint were the Aurors and the Death Eaters, who were also trying to make their way through that insane mayhem using their magic.

"Where are you?" he muttered, desperate, his eyes jumping from one figure to another, not recognizing anyone.

Draco's second screech was clearer – and located right at the base of the fountain. Seeing him at last, Harry didn't hesitate a split second. He shed the Invisibility cloak, rolled it up around the Alder wand and screamed.

"MALFOY!"

Draco ceased wrestling the vampire who decided to fortify himself on his blood and looked up in shock.

And Harry threw him the cloak and the wand, shouting out at him.

"Take it and go!"

A magnificent explosion of light made him look at the source on the other side of the large hall. The brightness lasted for a couple of seconds and Harry used it to scrutinize the huge room for one last time, trying to find the familiar red hair of his best friend or Hermione's bushy mane.

It was hopeless. They weren't there – or at least he didn't see them. A shred of ice pierced him to the very bottom of his soul. He closed his eyes and pressed his sore temple into the cold, golden statue. The pain was consuming him, it was almost bad enough to make him lose consciousness. He already didn't feel his left hand, he couldn't tell how much blood he lost...

"Ron … Hermione," he stuttered, his back shaking with suppressed sobs. What would his life be without them? A constant blackness without a single spark of light.

He couldn't stand it … he refused to accept it...

He opened his eyes again and saw a string of new light flashes.

And then he saw _him._

Voldemort and Negura fought each other with a maniacal determination at the other side of the Atrium and any creature that got too close to them was obliterated by the force of their spells.

Harry heard Voldemort's high, clear voice over the tumult as he screamed in rage, completely out of control, while the sly, tricky Negura just laughed at him, provoking him, waiting for his mistake.

The heart which appeared to be dead in Harry's chest a moment ago, started to beat furiously again. No matter what, Negura must not win but he could see him getting closer and closer to Voldemort, who wasn't performing spells with his usual effortlessness...

The moment the Dark Lord fell on his knees and disappeared from his sight, Harry broke. Jumping up to stand on the centaur's back, he sent a curse towards the damaged ceiling, shattering it even more than it already was.

"NEGURA!" he roared at the top of his lungs, his throat and shoulder burning horribly.

The sound of his voice drowned out the clamour of the battle, resonating all over the hall until it reached the dueling couple.

The vampire's whole body jerked as if an electrical shock had coursed through him.

Slowly, very slowly he turned towards the fountain and Harry knew right away when his eyes located him.

He said one word, quickly looking over the hall and then his eyes fell back on Harry.

Harry knew who he was trying to find and he knew he will not succeed. But he wasn't watching him anymore. His eyes turned towards where Voldemort should have been, desiring to see him for one last time. He just knew he had to be there, probably rising to his feet again somewhere in the shadow...

"POTTER!"

Negura shrieked, drawing his attention back to him. By now he had to know why he couldn't see Desalmado. He launched himself from the spot he stood, flying towards him, his wand pointed at him, his mouth opening and baring his long fangs.

Harry raised his wand as well.

"Come, you freak," he hissed.

Too focused on Negura's attack, Harry didn't see the other person approaching him on the broom until it was too late.

Their bodies collided and the next second Harry was falling down into the pool together with his attacker.

The water closed around them with a loud splash and Harry quickly turned around, ready to curse his opponent.

His eyes widened in shock as he took a better look at the person. It was a blond haired woman with aristocratic features. Her face was stiff and determined, but her hands were soft rather than hurting.

"Narcissa?" Harry mouthed, blinking numbly under the water. She just nodded, unwrapping some object she held in her shaking fingers.

Then another body plummeted into the cold, dirty water. It was Negura and he swam towards them with an incredible speed. Harry tried to push Narcissa away so he could get a clear shot, only she didn't let him.

She grasped his hand instead, pushing some object into his palm.

Negura was already there, reaching for him, when Harry felt a familiar jerk behind his navel and then he and Narcissa were speeding away in a swirl of water and colour...

They slammed to the ground, heavily, Narcissa falling over him.

Harry's poor balance didn't sustain it and both of them tumbled over … into a tilted garbage container.

Harry sputtered out the water from his mouth, instantly smelling the litter. Still, it was much more pleasurable odour in comparison with the decaying smell of the Inferi.

"Damn those filthy Muggles!" he heard Narcissa's irritated shout as both of them tried to scramble out of the stack of plastic bags and crumpled old paper. "This wasn't here an hour ago!"

"Narcissa," Harry gasped as he too, miraculously raised himself to his feet. "What is this? Why did you use a Portkey to bring me here?"

Harry quickly looked over the narrow, desolate street enlightened by last rays of the evening sun.

"You saved him," Narcissa whispered adoringly, regardless of what Harry asked her. "You saved my son. I saw you. I wouldn't get to him in time. He would be dead if it weren't of you."

Then, unexpectedly, she hugged him and kissed him on cheek.

"Thank you, Harry Potter. I have no words which could express my gratitude..."

"If only I could save everyone I wanted to, Narcissa," Harry whispered sadly. "Thanks for trying to help me but I must go back."

"Back?" she gasped.

"Back?-!" she repeated, horrified. "No, you can't!"

"Your sentiment is really touching but..."

"NO! You don't understand!" she yelped, taking Harry by surprise. He turned to look into her clear, blue eyes, looking for answers.

"I don't understand what?" he asked quietly. Then a sudden throb in his shoulder made him double over in pain and gasp for breath.

"You see … if you go back, you'll die," she whispered, taking his cold hands into hers and squeezing them. Who would have expected such a level of emotion from the previously callous and frigid woman? Harry certainly didn't.

"I have to take that risk. I must find my friends. They are just as important for me as your son is for you."

"And what about _him_?" she asked, her voice suddenly a lot more distanced. She even let go of his hands and took a step backward.

"Him?" Harry whispered.

"Why do you think we came to the Ministry, Harry Potter?" she asked, watching him intently.

Harry's mouth opened and closed slowly, mesmerized by the fierce power in her eyes.

"We were given a task to find you and _save_ you. That's what he ordered us. If we failed, he would have killed us _all_. And I know he would do that! That's why … I … I can't let you go back."

Harry gulped idly, shock mixing up with his disbelief.

"You don't know what happened when you left, Harry," she continued when Harry failed to utter a sound. "He was … _delirious_. I've never seen … anything like that before. I … I thought he was… dying."

"What?" Harry breathed out. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear more. Maybe he did, but it still frightened him.

"I seriously don't care about what's going on between you two. But you must live," she whispered, her hands shaking as she touched his face. "For the sake of us all."

"But..."

"PLEASE!"he cried out and then turned her head to the right jerkily, staring into the dark passageway, her eyes growing wide in fear.

"He's coming," she whispered so quietly that Harry barely heard her. But it affected him more than he wanted to admit to himself. The mixture of apprehension, doubt, worry and tension was easily balanced with a single thought. He will see him again. It was a bonus, a gift. Something he had stopped hoping for. Maybe he couldn't just run into his arms and kiss him for there were new, unbridgeable barriers which prevented it, but Harry didn't mind.

_He would_ _see him again._

And for that short moment it was the only thing that really mattered.

_**R&R**_


	15. The Biggest Flaw

**Author's note: **

I would like to thank to all my loyal readers as well as the new ones who took their time and posted a review to this story.

Special thanks to: **TheSecretUchiha**

Rating of the chapter: **M**

**xxxxx**

**The B****iggest Flaw**

xxxxx

_Somewhere in London_

_1__st__ January 2001, 15:59_

xxxxx

"My Lord," Narcissa whispered fearfully and Harry saw by the corner of his eye how she sank to her knees, bowing so deep that her head practically touched the dirty pavement.

Harry inhaled sharply and instinctively squeezed his shoulder harder as his pounding heart forced more blood out of his wound. He could hear him too, that soft rustle of his robes and his quiet, cat-like step.

And then Lord Voldemort emerged before him from the shadow, mighty and menacing as always. His pale features were hardened into a scathing frown, his blazing, red eyes boring into Narcissa's nape, purposely avoiding a single glance at Harry.

"Narcissa," he whispered and though his voice wasn't as icy as Harry expected, it still gave him chills. Surprisingly pleasurable chills, he had to admit as his battered heart began to race even faster.

"Get up."

The witch slowly rose from her kneeling position, her head still bowed low.

"You served me well. You and your son shall be forgiven."

Narcissa looked up quickly before dropping her gaze to her folded, trembling hands.

"Thank you … thank you My Lord," she whispered, her voice faltering in relief.

"Go now. Leave us," Voldemort hissed and Harry could feel how that powerful gaze was finally directed at him.

"Yes, My Lord," the witch said breathlessly and pulled out her wand in haste. Scurrying away, she cast one last glimpse at Harry and then she was gone with a loud crack announcing her departure. The echo of that sound resonated down the narrow street until it disappeared somewhere behind the next block.

They were alone.

A gust of cold wind rushed past them, whirling in the Dark Lord's long robes. The flapping noise of the fabric and a distant sound of a horn were the only noises Harry heard. Voldemort didn't speak for some reason. He just stood there, unmoving, watching Harry with that impenetrable stare.

Honestly, Harry didn't know how to start the conversation either. The truth was that he no longer felt any spite towards him for what happened. Not after learning how much the consequences of his crime afflicted him. If all what Negura read from that Riddle's diary was a truth, Harry could once again believe that Voldemort had a chance to redeem himself one day. And Harry only wished he wouldn't waste it. But he couldn't be with him anymore. He had to return to the Ministry and discover what happened to his friends. He owed them that and so much more.

The silence wore on and Harry still didn't feel like breaking it. At first he just stared at his own feet but soon his curiosity won the better of him and he raised his head a bit, scrutinizing that mesmerizing contrast of Riddle's porcelain skin against his dark robes, the way his long fingers moved a little as if in a nervous manner, the way his chest rose and fell and the way his pearly white lips parted with a particularly deep intake of breath.

Their eyes met at last, the red and green clashing together.

"You're alive," Voldemort finally said, his cold voice somewhat constrained and resentful.

Harry didn't feel like being happy about it either.

"Yeah, as always," he scoffed bitterly, shaking his head. "That's who I am after all. The one who survived. You know, it's a great _fun_, really," he added, his voice teeming with irony and sorrow, "being still alive while people around me keep dying. I don't know what I'm doing wrong … what kind of curse is that..."

He bent his head and squeezed his eyes shut, chasing away the familiar burn.

"You've ordered your Death Eaters to save me, haven't you?"

When Voldemort didn't answer, Harry looked up. "You shouldn't have done it. I didn't want to be saved."

"Don't be ridiculous...," the Dark Lord hissed only to be interrupted by Harry's outburst.

"I'VE LOST MY FRIENDS! I wish you could understand … how I feel … that I must go back, find them and..."

"You are _not _going anywhere, Potter. We have to talk," Voldemort snapped coldly.

"Talk?" Harry gasped incredulously. "About what? We've talked and talked before and look at us now! Nothing really changed."

The Dark Lord inhaled deeply, corners of his mouth dropping even lower.

"I … _apologize_ … for that unfortunate accident with that Auror."

Harry glanced away. No matter what Voldemort was about to say, nothing could change his resolve. He still had to go back to search for Ron and Hermione.

"Okay," he uttered and nodded slightly. "His name was Dawlish, by the way. Anything else?"

The Dark Lord drew out a long exhalation, flexing his long fingers in irritation several times.

"What exactly do you want me to say, Potter?" he hissed then. "I can't take back what I've done!"

Harry sighed, treading his fingers through his hair. If things were different, he would probably be happy to hear that, but not now. As he moved his arm, another fierce throb in his shoulder made him gasp.

"Sorry but...," he said, biting his lip to hide the pained grimace. "I really don't have time for this. I have obligations to fulfill."

Harry knew he was growing weaker and weaker with every minute and soon he wouldn't be able to keep himself upright anymore. He couldn't postpone his departure any longer if he wanted to have a chance to face Negura with some dignity left. Allowing himself one last glance into the scarlet eyes, he turned away from him and though his heart desired to stay much longer, he readied himself for the Apparation.

"I know you … _love_ them," Voldemort interrupted his concentration with words which cut deeply into Harry's soul. It hurt even more as he discerned the hidden meaning which wasn't said aloud, but the Dark Lord's voice clearly insinuated it.

_I mean nothing to you compared to them..._

Harry could almost hear him put that into words.

Knowing that he shouldn't, he still looked back over his shoulder. He needed to show him how badly he was mistaken. He needed to prove the opposite before he left.

"I would go back for you too," he whispered softly, glad for once that the Dark Lord could see the truth in his mind.

Amazed, Harry watched how much his words affected Voldemort. He closed his eyes and sighed as if he was just caressed, his hand clutching at the front of his robes as he took a shuddering breath.

"I have something for you," he said a moment later, his face serene as never before.

"Something you wouldn't mind to die for!" he cut across Harry's forming protest.

"What is it?" Harry whispered quietly, his heart hammering against his ribs as he turned all the way and watched the Dark Lord approach him.

"I also have an obligation towards you."

"What are you talking about?" Harry breathed out in astonishment, unable to follow the course of his thoughts.

"Oh, but I believe you know what's on my mind, don't you Harry? I'm talking about what happened in the Shrieking Shack. I first thought you were completely irrational when you were about to sacrifice everything in order to protect me from the Aurors. I was wrong at that time. You really meant it, didn't you?" he whispered. "I admit I didn't repay you very nicely."

"I see," Harry signed and shook his head, "Just forget it. Why should I mind how you treated me when you in fact saved us both?"

"I have no intention to forget anything. Hold out your arm."

Harry, searching the depths of the red eyes for answers, failed to see how Voldemort reached into his robes and pulled something out, hiding it in his hand. He kept his fist tightly closed until he placed it above Harry's opened palm. Only then did he uncurl his fingers and let something fall into Harry's waiting hand, breaking through his consternation. It was small and warm and alive for he felt its little legs move frantically against his skin.

The Dark Lord retracted his hand briskly and Harry took a first look at the two small animals huddled together on his palm.

"Mice?" he muttered in bewilderment. But then he looked better and saw that one of them had a striking ginger fur while the other one was a lot smaller, brown and more fluffy.

His fingers began to shake.

"_Finite Incantatem,"_ Voldemort whispered and Harry's hand suddenly became too heavy to hold the burden.

He dropped them on the pavement, watching them gain in bulk exponentially and change their appearance, becoming more and more human...

"HARRY! HARRY!"

Ron and Hermione jumped up, flinging their arms around his neck, squeezing his breath out of him, knocking him down on the pavement and finally falling on top of him.

"HARRY! YOU'RE ALIVE!"

They were clutching him like mad, repeating his name, sobbing and laughing at once before Ron suddenly grasped his collar and began shaking him with full force.

"WE THOUGHT THAT THE VAMPIRE KILLED YOU! How could you do something so absolutely idiotic?-! How could you come to rescue us alone?-! Facing Negura just like that! Seriously, have you lost your mind?-!"

"STOP IT RON! He must be hurt! Don't you see he's crying?-! Harry! HARRY!"

Yes, he was crying. He felt every salty drop running down his face, but all of them were tears of joy, not pain. He just couldn't open his mouth and force the air through his constricted airways to tell them that.

"R... Ron," he finally choked. "Her-mione... I thought … I thought I've lost you! I thought you were dead! When they took you away … down to the Atrium … I thought..."

"Yeah mate, it was absolutely dreadful," Ron nodded fervently, helping him to sit up. "I thought the same. I kept telling myself, 'Dang it, Ron, it's over. They're going to kill us.' And when that freak..."

"You mean Desalmado?" Harry butted in.

"Yeah, that one," Ron nodded. "He just threw us into a mob of thirsty vampires, laughing like a madman when they attacked us and then..."

Suddenly, Ron paused and slowly turned to Hermione as if he needed to confirm objectivity of his memories.

"Well... Then something really, really weird happen," he said hesitantly. "And you won't believe us. Seriously. 'Cause I don't believe it myself."

Since Ron didn't look like he was ready to continue, Hermione spoke instead of him, clutching Harry's hand harder.

"The case is that You-Know-Who appeared there all of a sudden just when we were about to be … slaughtered," she whispered and Harry's heart once again began to pound fiercely in his chest.

"Yeah, it was, like, totally freaky!" Ron whispered, his face pale in dismay as he recollected the events. "He broke in through the ceiling with a horrible crash, a whole army of _bloody Inferi_ behind him and then he pointed his wand at us and I thought 'Oh, Merlin, this is it!', but he didn't kill us! Would you believe that?"

"He turned us both into mice," Hermione whispered.

"And then he shoved us into his pocket!" Ron fervently continued, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. "Can you imagine it?-! Being in You-Know-Who's pocket? For Merlin's beard, why did he do that? Maybe … maybe he went completely mental? Yeah … that must be it! Surely there's no other sensible explanation!"

"Eh … I can think of one," Hermione smiled mysteriously.

"What?-! Which one? Why do you think he _helped us_, Hermione?" Ron demanded, but Harry already ceased to listen to them. His eyes were searching for someone else.

He couldn't see him. Sometime during their happy reunion, Voldemort decided to leave.

"No," Harry whispered, his heart still beating wildly as he heaved himself up on his feet, turning around as he searched for him, not seeing him anywhere.

"What is it, Harry? What are you looking for? Don't tell me – he is not still here, is he? Maybe he changed his mind and decided to kill us after all," Ron groaned. "I tell you - we must get out of here! Now!"

"Calm down, Ron," Hermione said quickly. "We are not in danger."

"How can you tell?-!"

"I _know_."

Suddenly, Harry froze. Maybe his eyes were deluding him, but he could swear he just saw a swirl of black robes at the opposite corner of the darkened street.

"W- … wait here," he gasped, his voice faltered as his heart jumped in his chest. Fortunately, his legs were no longer as leaden as a moment ago and so he set out after him, half-stumbling and half-running, ignoring the pains in his strained body.

"Wait! Harry! Where are you going?-!" Ron whined, but Harry paid him no attention. Surely Hermione will try to hold him back. If she won't manage it, well, then she won't. He couldn't bring himself to care about it right now.

He just had to catch up with Voldemort before he Apparated away.

He had to … he had to … _he had to_...

The air burned his throat and he felt as if his body weighted several tons. His wound stung badly and he could see nasty colourful circles dancing before his eyes. He halted for a moment, breathing wildly and then tried to run again, the sounds of Ron's and Hermione's quick steps and shouts following him.

Harry turned the corner, running down another street which looked very much like the previous one.

"TOM!" he bellowed, then stumbled and nearly fell. He was already too tired to keep that pursuit.

Gasping for breath wildly, he felt the anger rise inside him again.

"VOLDEMORT!" he screamed, stomping his feet. "IF YOU JUST DISAPPARATED YOU BASTARD I SWEAR I'M GONNA FIND YOU AND SET YOUR UNDERPANTS ON FIRE!"

A sudden movement on the left instantly caught his attention.

"Will you?" Voldemort said, his high, cold voice displaying a mixture of irritation and amusement. "Shall I take it that you've changed your mind about not talking to me?" he asked, taking a step closer to Harry, halting at the edge of a long, early-evening shadow.

"HARRY!" Ron's voice chided down the street, but Harry might as well be deaf for the attention he paid it.

He pushed Voldemort against the brick wall roughly, dismissing his livid hisses. The white hand disappeared in the folds of black robes, pulling out the handle of the yew wand, but Harry caught that frail wrist and pressed it roughly against Voldemort's thigh.

"Don't," he gasped, waiting to see if the Dark Lord would continue to attempt to squirm out of his clutch.

_He didn't._

Harry's head was spinning. Here he was, _touching_ him. After all those things which happened between them, after making a resolute decision to leave him for good, he was standing here, doing this.

And yet it wasn't enough by far. Licking his dried lips, Harry released his firm hold and let his fingertips graze over the little bumps on Voldemort's bony hand, thrilled by the shiver he felt in response to his touches.

"I was afraid, Tom," he whispered, watching his fervent red eyes with desperation. "I was so afraid that it was over."

He wanted to tell him so much more than that. He wanted to express that sheer happiness and gratitude which was swelling inside him but it was so overwhelming that his mouth failed to form the proper words.

Voldemort didn't speak as he seemed to be fascinated by Harry's hand which still moved upward over the plane of his chest towards his neck and shoulders, circling around him and pulling him closer. Harry hesitated only a second before kissing him gently, keeping the touch light and his lips opened. The Dark Lord inhaled sharply and drew back a little, watching Harry with those unreadable, blazing eyes until Harry's throat closed in fear of refusal. He glanced away, ready to apologize, but the long fingers caught his chin firmly, raised it a bit and the cool lips met his again.

And Harry moaned, relief washing over him in waves at the knowledge that even over his hurt pride, Voldemort still desired him. Their kiss progressed more quickly from that point, becoming more hungry and demanding and Harry felt he was immediately losing himself in that sensation. It was the most perfect anaesthetic he could get because all the pains in his body miraculously disappeared, leaving just a blissful happiness filling his chest until he was about to burst.

"Harry..."

Those silky lips uttered his name adoringly, making him capture them and re-establish himself between them eagerly.

But Voldemort's voice still vibrated in his skull, growing in strength. A moment later Harry realized that something went seriously awry. Why did the Dark Lord's whisper suddenly sounded like Ron's yelling?

"HARRY!"f

Harry opened his eyes, heavily sinking back into reality. He found himself pinned to the wall, Voldemort's face still touching his, their bodies rubbing together, both of them breathing wildly. No, he didn't want to stop feeling this ever, only...

"HERMIONE! DO SOMETHING! QUICKLY!"

Unfortunately, it was definitely Ron's voice. Squealing in hysterics, he was probably very close to a heart attack.

**"**_**Can I kill him now?"**_Voldemort hissed casually, his eyes still peacefully closed. Harry, however, already composed himself enough to shake his head resolutely, breaking their skin contact.

**"**_**Definitely not."**_

**"**_**You think you can explain this?"**_The red eyes opened a chink, watching him curiously.

**"**_**I have to,"**_ Harry sighed and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"AND WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO RON? DO I LOOK LIKE SOMEONE WHO HAS A WAND?-! BESIDES, EVEN IF I HAD ONE, I WOULDN'T DO ANYTHING!" Hermione screeched back at her boyfriend who was tearing his hair out.

"But Harry's been cursed! Don't you see he's under the Imperius Curse?-!"

"IS HE?-!" Hermione wailed, stomping her foot angrily. "Ron, I really love you, but sometimes you're so... ARGH!"

"_What?-!_ Are you telling me that Harry snogging the hell out of YOU-KNOW-WHO is his _perfectly normal behaviour_?-!"

"Ron," Harry interrupted their growing argument and extracted himself from Voldemort's embrace. "Let's talk," he said evenly, coming over to him.

"Harry!" Ron sputtered out, watching him with alarm in his eyes as if Harry was infected by some deadly disease and then he cast a quick, frightened glance towards Voldemort who wisely decided to stay aside.

"Do you feel all right, mate?" he asked with a nearly prepubescent squeak in his voice.

Harry was tempted to say that he felt absolutely great, regardless of his recent injuries, but he had a feeling that it was one of the last things Ron wanted to hear.

"I'm not under the Imperius Curse, or the Confundus Charm, or anything like that. You do surely remember that I am innately resistant to these kinds of curses, don't you?"

To his relief, his calm voice seemed to suppress his best friend's frenzy.

"Yeah, I know about that," Ron nodded quickly before making a face again. "But what was that right now? Why would you do that? Why would _anyone _want to do that?"

Before Harry could answer that, Ron's features froze.

"It wasn't because of us, was it? You didn't try to convey your gratitude or something, did you?"

"Well, sort of but..." Harry began hesitantly, thinking about how should he explain that his feelings for Voldemort went much further than that.

"Eh … Harry … we … I mean, me and Hermione are surely grateful as well but … seriously…," Ron paused and lowered his voice into a quiet whisper. "You didn't have to express your thanks by … by … _licking his tonsils_. It was like … utter gross!" The disgusted grimace he made after that showed Harry the true extent of his abhorrence.

Harry sighed and rubbed his nape for a moment. He expected this to be difficult, even without that stabbing pain at the joint of his neck and shoulder which was back and worsening once again. But Ron needed to know truth. He couldn't hide it from him anymore.

"Ron," he said quietly as he looked at him directly. "You should know one thing. I didn't do this for the first time. I actually like that 'gross' – as you call it – exchange very much and … him as well."

The reaction to what he said was exactly as he imagined it to be.

Ron goggled his eyes comically and stumbled backwards, appearing to be at brink of shock-induced unconsciousness.

"That's why I didn't want to date anyone else...," Harry continued imploringly, but Ron interrupted him with a fierce gasp.

"HARRY! H- HOW COULD YOU?-!" he bellowed, his face turning red in his righteous indignation as the first stupefaction wore off.

"How could he, Ron?-!" Hermione butted in all of a sudden, coming to halt by Harry's side and taking his hand into hers. At first, Harry couldn't say if he was more happy or distressed about her support. He didn't want to be the reason of a possible alienation between his friends.

"Rather ask yourself what would happen to us, if Harry _couldn't_," Hermione continued shrilly. "Or do you really believe that anyone of us would be standing here _alive_ if Harry didn't have this … this relationship?-!"

Hermione let go of Harry's hand in order to cross her arms over her breast pointedly, stabbing Ron with her strict glare.

At first, Ron's mouth moved idly as his eyes wandered between Harry and Hermione. But then Harry could see his anger slowly dissipate as he began to think about what Hermione told him.

"Good Merlin," he suddenly gasped, covering his mouth with his palm. "You're right … we would be dead, wouldn't we? All of us..."

His eyes turned to the pavement and he watched it for some time, his face still red, but it appeared to be more due to embarrassment now. After a minute or so he slowly looked up at Harry, biting his lower lip sheepishly.

"Yeah, that's very likely," Harry slowly nodded, still unsure how Ron was going to take it.

"So … _he_ ... _he_ really saved us … because of you?" Ron whispered, undecided whether he meant to state it as a fact or ask it as a question. He kept eyeing Harry nervously, biting and licking his lower lip in a distressed manner.

"I think so," Harry whispered.

"Then it means … it means that _he_ … _he_ has to like you too … quite a lot … actually," Ron choked out before biting his lip even harder and glancing fearfully over Harry's shoulder to the dark figure standing in a short distance, seemingly uninterested in their discussion.

"Hopefully," Harry breathed out almost inaudibly.

Ron shook his head in disbelief, his eyes once again drawn to Voldemort as if he was an oversized magnet. He muttered something under his breath and then he suddenly grasped Harry's hand, dragging him away down the street.

Hermione made two steps to follow them, but she eventually halted, watching them apprehensively instead.

Harry didn't know what Ron was up to. He wasn't sure if his friend was even capable of coping with the discovery and that made him even more anxious about the whole thing.

When they finally stopped at the corner, Ron first looked down at his feet, shuffling them in a nervous manner.

"Harry," he began hesitantly, taking a deep breath. "I have absolutely no idea how such a ... _thing_ could even happen."

"But I don't want you to explain it," he added quickly when Harry opened his mouth to speak. "I'm quite certain that I don't. However, I must know if you are _absolutely, completely and utterly_ serious about this."

Harry's chest tightened so much that he could only nod at first.

"Yeah," he breathed out.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed as he kept gazing into his left and then his right eye as if trying to catch one of them lying.

"Okay," he said suddenly with a jerky nod.

"Okay?" Harry whispered, disbelieving and then suddenly hopeful. "Does it mean… Is it really fine with you?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Ron bellowed, fisting his hair in desperation. "How can I say that it is all right with me?-! But…," he sighed, kicking an empty Coke can angrily as if it was all its fault. "But I think that Hermione put it right, didn't she? You-Know-Who saved our lives, I can hardly deny that. Which also means that I cannot say a word against him being your … your _crush_ or whatever he is for you now, can I?"

Harry said nothing to that. He didn't know what to say anyway.

"Harry," Ron sighed again, shaking his ginger head desperately. "This is insane! Are you sure you're happy with that? Is that really what you want? _Him_?-! _Him_ instead of some beautiful, sweet, lovely girl?-!"

Harry forced his stiffened spine to move a bit as he nodded again.

"Yeah, absolutely," he whispered.

"Come on, Harry!" Ron groaned, sounding agonized. "I don't have to tell you what kind of freak he is, do I? Besides, regardless of the fact that he is the ugliest and nastiest wizard ever born, he's still a guy!"

"And?" Harry asked, biting his tongue to stop himself from arguing about that freaky and ugly part right away.

"He's a _guy_, Harry!" his best friend howled as if Harry was mentally incapacitated. "He doesn't have the _important things_!"

Harry didn't have to ask which important things Ron had on his mind, especially when his friend's hands clearly demonstrated full woman's breast a second later.

"That one and other, _even more_ important things!"

Fortunately for Harry, Ron decided to evade some really obscene gesticulation.

Harry pressed his lips tightly together. He wasn't sure if Ron was still taking this seriously or if he could start laughing now.

Deciding to keep the serious tone, Harry coughed to clear his throat.

"Well Ron," he began, his mouth twitching a little, "it might totally surprise you, but I have already noticed all of that. And for your information, I don't think he's ugly at all."

"You … you don't?" Ron muttered, suddenly looking like a lost puppy.

"That's right. Look, I don't ask you to understand it, just please, try to accept it."

Ron's chin dropped a little, but he rubbed it a moment later and when he spoke again, he sounded a bit calmer.

"So it is true, isn't it? You're really into guys."

"Just one," Harry said firmly. "At least in that way, if you know what I mean," he quickly corrected himself.

"And _Ginny_?" Ron whispered quietly.

Harry was afraid that they would get to this point.

"I _loved_ her, Ron, really loved her! But that won't bring her back, will it?"

Ron, realizing his mistake, quickly shook his head.

"Yeah, I know you did. And I also know that I pressed upon you to find someone else for _years _but I kind of didn't expect..."

Harry anxiously watched his best friend rub the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath.

"...I didn't expect this," he said a bit louder.

"I didn't expect it either," Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Well ... so what about our friendship when you're into guys now?" Ron muttered, his cheeks turning pink again. "Am I … you know … still … _safe_?"

Harry attempted to glare at his friend at first, but seeing his unnerved face he couldn't help himself and grinned instead.

"You will always be my best friend, Ron. But if you by any chance ever catch me hitting on you, I hereby give you a permission to lock me at St. Mungo's ward for incurable mental diseases."

Seeing the twitching corners of Harry's mouth, Ron slowly started to chuckle as well.

"Would you prefer Lockhart's cell?" he sniggered and Harry burst into laughter openly, which Ron joined right away.

And then Hermione appeared between them, hugging them both, on the verge of tears.

"Why are you two still so stupid?-!" she shouted, squeezing them in her shaky arms.

"Someone has to be," Ron grinned at her as she finally let go of them. "But seriously," he snorted, "I really don't care who Harry wants to … _you-know-what_ as long as it is not you … or me … or my mom and dad. Concerning my brothers, it's their choice only, but I'd prefer to stay in the dark."

"RON!" Hermione screeched over his guffaw.

"Just kidding!" Ron quickly raised his hands in self-defense.

"Before I forget," Harry said, wiping off the grin from his face to appear more serious, "I have your wands."

"Wicked! Thanks a lot Harry!" Ron called out enthusiastically as Harry pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over.

"How did you manage to lay you hands on them, Harry?" Hermione asked, instantly worried.

"Er … I found them in the Leader's office," Harry replied hesitantly. "When I was looking for his Horcrux."

"Horcrux!" Hermione gasped while Ron turned pale.

"Yeah, that's right," Harry nodded quickly. "You were absolutely right, Ron, when you suggested it. Negura really created one before becoming a vampire. It's something small, silver and probably bears a connection to his family members. Unfortunately, I'm still not sure what exactly it is."

"Ah … uh …," Ron tried to speak, horror-stricken.

"What?" Harry asked, but the train of his thoughts was interrupted by a hand squeezing his – fortunately healthy – shoulder.

"It is his wedding ring," Voldemort said coldly.

Harry looked up in surprise at the Dark Lord standing behind him.

"How do you know?" he whispered, his heartbeat speeding up, making his wound twitch painfully.

"He mentioned it during our duel. He even _dared_ to show it to me."

"Why would he do such a thing?" Hermione whispered in disbelief, ignoring the fact that she just directly addressed the Dark Lord.

"Because he thought he was about to win," Harry said instead of Voldemort, breaking the eye contact with him in order to look at Hermione.

"That's one of Negura's nasty habits. He loves to inform his victims of their misfortune before killing them. But it's still odd, I agree. He couldn't be certain of his victory at that moment."

"He appeared to be fully convinced of it," Voldemort snapped icily and Harry glanced up at him, a silent question in his eyes. He didn't ask it aloud though, for something in those crimson eyes stopped him.

Hermione noticed it as well because she quickly spoke.

"Anyway, we must inform the Order about the recent development immediately."

"Yeah! That's absolutely marvellous idea!" Ron agreed keenly in his apparent desire to be as far from Voldemort as possible. "Come on Harry," he whispered nervously, reaching for him.

"Ron," Hermione said softly, when Harry didn't move. "I don't think Harry wants to go with us right now."

"But why…? Oh... OH … yeah … I just didn't realize it … right away," Ron stammered, his face once again aflame.

Harry felt bad for his best friend's mortification and tried to placate him a little.

"I'll see you later," he grinned at Ron, who tried to do the same and failed completely.

He mumbled something instead, the colour of his ears still resembling ripe tomatoes. Fortunately, Hermione saved him of further abashment as she winked at Harry mischievously, hugged her boyfriend closer and turned them on the spot. A loud crack broke the silence like a gunshot and the couple disappeared.

A moment later Harry slowly tore his eyes from the now empty spot, thinking.

Though it was he who initiated the passionate make-up session with Voldemort, it didn't automatically mean that all the things were suddenly put right. Harry knew that sooner or later they will have to talk about what happened before. But he felt too tired to go through it right now and also afraid that the glimmering spark of happiness in his chest would disappear if tried to do it nonetheless.

"You stayed here," Voldemort broke the silence with his clear voice. "Regardless of what the redhead said."

Harry just nodded and waited until the Dark Lord came to stand in front of him. His cool fingers touched his face lightly, but his blazing red eyes remained stern. The older wizard suddenly leaned closer and sniffed him, his tiny snake-like nostrils quivering in distaste.

"I know I smell like a garbage bin," Harry whispered awkwardly, looking away, "since I fell into one half an hour ago."

He needed a bath immediately … and sleep. Lots of sleep actually. Talking had to wait a little longer.

Voldemort's hand slid down over Harry's neck to his jacket, slipping beneath his shirt, touching the hidden wound lightly. As Harry winced, the Dark Lord quickly retracted his hand and his wide blood-red eyes glanced fleetingly over the equally coloured fingertips, before looking at Harry again.

"Did Negura do this to you?" he asked curtly, some formerly unknown emotion leaking into his voice.

"No," Harry shrugged healthy shoulder casually. "It's Desalmado's work. Negura merely ordered him to kill me. Not that Desalmado needed too much persuasion... Anyway, it's quite obvious that I won."

Voldemort clenched his teeth, seizing Harry's collar firmly. The hiss he uttered didn't make a sense, but his expression did. The Dark Lord was positively furious.

A second later Harry's armpit was squeezed hard and the next moment he felt his body being compressed by Apparation. The world didn't even have time to stop spinning and Harry he felt himself being pushed down another rubber tube.

"Stop it!" he gasped as he regained corporeality again and freed himself from the forceful clutch. Stumbling backward, he fell onto something what looked like a wrecked bed. His empty stomach was turning upside down, making him nauseous. Harry had to lean forward and take several deep breaths to suppress the urge to retch. Once it subsided a bit, he slowly raised his head, looking over the dark surroundings, seeing only broken furniture, some shards of glass and tatters of fabric on the floor.

"Where are we?" he asked quietly.

He had no idea where Voldemort took him or what he intended to do. He also didn't understand what made him so upset, though he was aware that Voldemort's mood could be very unpredictable.

"Three years ago," the Dark Lord began in a chilling voice, moving closer in the shadows, "I had only two genuine wishes. To obtain the Elder Wand and … to tread on your corpse."

A cold fist squeezed Harry's heart. Why did he say it? How could he speak those words so casually?

"I still wish to possess the Elder Wand _very_ much," Voldemort continued coldly as he approached Harry, the yew wand looking rather threateningly in his hand.

"But you … _you_..."

He was very close now, towering above him. Any other wizard or witch would have probably pulled out their wand by now or ran away screaming: Harry didn't consider any of that.

Voldemort seized his chin, his red eyes fastened upon Harry's green ones.

**"**_**You must live,"**_he hissed quietly and with a flick of his wand Harry's jacket and shirt was cut apart, revealing the nasty wound.

As Voldemort pointed his wand at it and muttered some incantation, a far worse pain than Harry expected ran first down his arm and then back up and into his torso. Harry tried to squirm and push him away, but the Dark Lord stayed put.

Finally, Harry opened his mouth to scream at him that he couldn't stand it when Voldemort raised his wand and the ache immediately vanished.

"That shall teach you not to risk a vampiric bite again."

"Is that why you did that?" Harry gasped and squeezed his sore shoulder, noticing instantly that it wasn't bleeding anymore. Surprised, Harry looked at the wound, seeing that it was sealed nicely, leaving a mere narrow, but deep scar.

"Now drink this," Voldemort ordered coldly, ignoring his question. Harry looked up and, after realizing that the Dark Lord didn't hurt him on purpose, took the two little flasks he was offered and drank their content without any protest. Both tasted dreadfully bitter, the first one Harry recognized as Blood-Replenishing Potion, the second one was completely unfamiliar.

Nevertheless, the effect of the cure was immediate. The light-headedness caused by the lack of blood was easing away together with that heavy feeling in his ankles. On the other hand, the sudden drop of adrenaline in Harry's veins made it impossible for him to keep his eyelids open. He felt he was falling backward, but that could just be his thoughts because before he could confirm it, he was already asleep.

xxxxx

_72 Abbey Road, Axminster_

_2__nd__ January 2001, 4:15_

xxxxx

Harry woke up with a start, gazing confusedly at an unfamiliar ceiling. At first, nothing made sense. He was only certain that he just had a nightmare where he, Ron and Hermione were captured by some nasty vampires who tried to kill them. He could swear he still felt an imprint of their teeth on the base of his neck.

Furrowing a little, Harry hoisted himself up on his elbows. His surroundings were dark, but relatively sharp, which meant he had to have fallen asleep with his glasses on his nose. He raised them a little to rub his sleepiness from his eyes and then he looked once again over the strange, dimmed room with a truly magnificent mantelpiece situated directly opposite the massive bed where he rested.

He didn't know this place, though it reminded him of Hogwarts a little. The old-fashioned design of the furniture, the slight smell of an old building, the large paintings on the walls, all of that seemed to belong into his beloved school, except of the bed.

"Black silk?" Harry muttered, running his fingers over the soft material of the sheets. He had to admit that compared to this luxury, he looked rather mundane in his simple white, cotton shirt and threadbare jeans.

"Are you awake at last? You slept nearly twelve hours."

Harry jumped a little and he quickly looked in a direction of a large, leather armchair standing next to the fireplace.

"Tom," he whispered, recognizing the wizard immediately.

"You took me back to Axminster, right?" Harry made a well-educated guess as he sorted his memories hastily. He slowly sat up and instinctively clenched his hand on his empty stomach which tried to protest with a hungry growl.

When the Dark Lord didn't answer his question, Harry decided to use the lack of his attention for a quick self-inspection. Voldemort or some of his servants had to have spent some time taking care of him. He was clean, shaved and didn't smell anymore. Also, the awful bruises caused by the ropes were gone and he no longer felt the pain in his ribs and temple. All in all, if he wasn't starving, he would feel quite well. Having just another reason to be grateful, Harry looked back at the person seated in the armchair.

What was Voldemort doing there, anyway?

Harry budged up, leaning forward to see him better. From his point of view it looked like he was just reading some ordinary book. As if to prove that, Voldemort turned the page, either pretending, or completely oblivious of Harry's stare.

But Harry's heart stuttered in his chest with a sudden realization.

With a sharp gasp he pressed his hand to his bare chest, groping the half-unbuttoned shirt he wore.

Voldemort's diary! He no longer had it on himself. Which meant Voldemort took it back, knowing that it was he who handed it over to Negura...

But if it was true, it didn't make any sense! If Voldemort discovered what he had done hours ago, why would he heal him instead of torturing him like the last time when he caught him snooping in his Pensieve?

Holding his breath in apprehension, Harry quickly looked back to check what Voldemort was reading.

Yes, it was indeed his diary.

Harry's throat tightened.

"I desired revenge," Voldemort said all of a sudden, closed the book and slowly stood up.

"I wanted to see you suffer for making _me_ suffer. For ditching me like some unwanted burden," he whispered harshly.

"I didn't...!" Harry immediately protested, scrambling out of the bed, but he fell back under the crushing power of Voldemort's glare. "I was actually pleased when my Death Eaters informed me that Negura captured your friends," he continued in that silky, cruel voice.

Harry said nothing, but his heart sank. He didn't want to know that.

Voldemort watched him for some time before turning to face the flames and speaking again.

"I knew that you would go on a rescue mission but it didn't bother me at all. I was certain that you would be surrounded by the members of the Order who would prevent anything bad happening to you at a cost of their own lives. And you would watch them die … which would make you suffer all the more. Such thoughts brought me immense satisfaction."

There was something off with his voice as Harry noticed. Voldemort didn't boast about it. Though he hid it quite well, Harry still could discern traces of misery in that detached tone. It prevented his heart from sinking even lower.

"But I was careless, you see. Disregarding circumstances of a supreme importance like a fool. I didn't consider that you could refuse the help of the Order. Worse, though I am well aware of your biggest weakness I didn't take it into consideration either. No one sensible would ever go fight Negura and his forces all by himself and that was also what I thought in my blind ignorance of your biggest flaw - selfless _love_ for those who are unworthy of your interest."

Voldemort turned his head slightly aside allowing Harry to catch a glimpse of his expression, which appeared to be calm and composed. But Harry could still perceive the tension from the way he held his body, from his fast breath and clenched hands.

"When I was informed about the situation," Riddle continued after short pause, "I realized my mistake and decided to amend it immediately by attacking the Ministry in person. Once there, I snatched your little friends by fortune and already planned how I would present them to you. I wanted to be the one claiming conditions this time, while you would be begging for mercy in return..."

Voldemort took in a shallow breath and closed his eyes.

"Yes, I wanted you to be as miserable as possible but somewhere safe, far from Negura's reach. The possibility of arriving too late never crossed my mind, not even when that freak appeared before me and mocked me about my diary. He told me how much you've helped him to overcome its protections and then he began quoting my ideas, driving me_ insane_!"

Harry was stunned by the force of his anger and grief. But after learning about Voldemort's previous thoughts, he wasn't sure if it was even proper to apologize for being compelled to aid the Leader. He was suddenly very glad that he didn't have an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity by reading the Dark Lord's diary.

"And then he told me that I should celebrate," Voldemort continued, his voice dropping to a mere whisper as he came to stand before Harry, his face blank, deadened.

"He said: 'You should celebrate, Voldemort, because I killed Harry Potter. He's no longer among the living.' And I knew he meant every word. I saw it in his eyes."

The pale hand clawed at his chest helplessly as he took another wheezy breath.

"He was certain you were dead..." he hissed and Harry could only numbly watch his struggle to form words.

"And I … believed it."

His fingers tightened their spasmodic clutch on his robes and Voldemort slowly turned away from him, walking stiffly back to the fireplace. Once there, he rested his hand against the mantelpiece and spoke very quietly, as if only to himself. Harry, still completely petrified, had to hold his breath to hear what he was saying.

"He made me see what I've done… and who I am. And I _hated_ myself for my fiendish thoughts towards you and for all those crimes I've committed upon you and for … dismissing your grace. I hated myself for being rotten to the core just like him. I still hate myself for all of that … and it _hurts_."

Harry slowly rose to his feet, trying to see things clearly over his bewilderment. Voldemort stood, leaning against the wall as if he were a thousand years old, his shoulders hunched, his body trembling: he was not the Voldemort he used to know.

Suddenly, he realized the danger the Dark Lord was facing by saying all those things. He rushed over to him and grabbed his arm. "You must stop it," he gasped. "I didn't die. And even if I did, it wouldn't be your fault!"

"How many times it _was_ my fault?" Voldemort said bitingly, gazing into the flames. "How many times have I tried to kill you _with pleasure_? As if I want you to make excuses for me."

He glanced down at the book he held in his hand and then he simply threw it into the fire, ignoring Harry's surprised intake of breath. The pages instantly ignited and within seconds turned black and crumbled apart.

"If you didn't appear there, Harry, Negura would have killed me and I would be forced to _exist_ while feeling this..." he made an expressive gesture towards his chest, "...forever."

They stood side by side for a long moment, Voldemort still watching the blazing fire consuming his diary while Harry was watching him.

"Does it mean that you believe now that there are worse things than death?" Harry asked in a whisper, scrutinizing Voldemort's atypical and somewhat inhuman profile. The other man seemed to be contemplating it for a long time and he would probably continue much longer if Harry didn't interrupt him by moving his hand from his forearm to his shoulder.

"Hold me," he voiced his dearest wish quietly. Voldemort finally tore his eyes from the fire and turned to him, the reflected flames dancing in his eyes.

"How can you still want me?" he whispered with astonishment, apparently expecting Harry's detestation.

And Harry pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around his waist, lay his head on his hard chest and sighed at the feeling of tension leaving his body.

"You said it yourself that my biggest flaw is a selfless _love_ for those who are unworthy of my interest," he said softly, certain of his feelings more than ever. "So don't be surprised when I say that I love you. And don't laugh at me, because I can't help it."

The Dark Lord remained very still and Harry couldn't even tell if he was breathing or not. He raised his head a bit, meeting the deep, scarlet eyes which were widened in shock.

Standing up on his tiptoes, Harry kissed his thin, slackened lips, waking Voldemort from his trance.

**"**_**It's safe to assume then,"**_ he hissed in Parseltongue, showing a surprising amount of uncertainty, _**"that you **__**won't**__**leave me again."**_

Harry smiled a bit sadly.

"You know that it only depends on you."

Voldemort's face instantly hardened and he drew away from him, striding quickly towards the distant windows and back, hissing something under his breath.

"I _can_ restrain myself!" he snapped at last, baring his teeth a little.

"Feel free to prove it any time you want," Harry said, his smile growing brighter.

"I will," Voldemort ground out, coming over to Harry, his red eyes boring into green ones. "And now… say it again."

"I love you," Harry grinned, taken aback a little that Voldemort wanted him to repeat it.

"As much as your friends?" the Dark Lord whispered, his lips touching Harry's cheek before pulling away.

"As much as them," Harry nodded, "but still differently."

To prove his point he leaned closer and angled his head for a kiss. A second later he was already grazing his teeth against the cool lips, invading that soft mouth, tongue rubbing against tongue, challenging each other to a sensual combat.

Unfortunately, before something more could happen, they were interrupted by a truly horrible sound coming from Harry's stomach. Harry pulled away quickly, face lighting up like a neon light.

"Sorry for that," he muttered. "But I haven't eaten anything for days … or at least I feel that way."

A small smile leaked through the Dark Lord's usually perfect mask of emotional detachment. With a snap of his fingers a tray of appetizing full English breakfast consisting of toasts, butter, scrambled eggs, sausage, black pudding, bacon, mushrooms, baked beans and hash browns appeared floating beside them together with a steaming teapot and a small cup with a saucer.

"Whoa. What a service!" Harry yelped in amazement. "Is this really for me...?"

"Be my guest."

Harry didn't have to be told twice. He snatched the tray and the cup, the teapot obediently trailing after him to the table where he took a seat and for the next ten minutes indulged in an intense communion with his stomach.

An appeasement of one of his basic needs left too much room for the others. As Harry ate, he couldn't stop watching the Dark Lord who moved his armchair across from him and sank to it gracefully. Ron had to be blind, he decided while secretly scrutinizing the older wizard. How could his best friend not see the remarkable qualities Voldemort possessed? Such a tall, slim body moving with such a faultless refinement was sexy beyond dispute.

_Ugly..._

Harry shook his head in a dismissive gesture while his eyes furtively slid lower to the Dark Lord's slender waist covered by loose folds of the black robes. Harry gulped and quickly looked back at his nearly empty food tray, chasing away an image of the white, nearly translucent skin hidden beneath that heavy fabric.

Crossing his ankles and digging his toes into the floor, Harry tried to keep his breathing even. With his blood level back at normal, his body reacted to that simple thought in the most improper way.

To make it much worse, those amazingly long legs just moved to cross each other. What he would do if he could seize them, force them apart and then...

"Thanks for that amazing feast," Harry said quickly and jumped from the chair while wiping his mouth into a napkin with his shaking hand. "You saved me again, seriously. Well … now, if you don't mind I would need to..."

Voldemort only moved his head a bit, indicating towards the entrance door.

And Harry prayed, he really prayed the Dark Lord missed the thoughts which were running through his head right now.

"Thanks," he choked, dashing from the table in his hasty quest for a bathroom, finding it in the opposite room to the entrance to Voldemort's chambers. Any other time he would be probably impressed by that perfect, spotless green marble everywhere around, but certainly not at the moment when he was still mentally undressing him. It was a difficult task to relieve his swelling bladder in his current physical state but he managed somehow and then quickly washed his hands, face and neck in a pleasantly cool water.

"Slow down, Harry," he muttered for himself, taking a deep breath. "Slow down, or he'll torture you if he doesn't kill you on the spot."

He looked up into the mirror, watching the pulsing excitement in his own face.

"Damn … if I could just find some sensible approach how to explain my need..."

Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply to slow down his frantic heart-beat.

"This is madness," he groaned, feeling utterly helpless.

He returned to the Dark Lord's chambers then and approached the table where he had finished his breakfast. Voldemort remained in his armchair and appeared to be deep in thought. Harry waited for him to speak, but when he didn't, he moved his chair closer to him and sat down, entwining his fingers together to hide his nerves.

"Well ... I know that this may sound stupid," he began hesitantly, "but I was thinking that maybe you wouldn't mind to..."

"Did you do that to your _girlfriend_ as well?" Voldemort interrupted him suddenly, his pupils narrowing inquiringly.

"What do you mean?" Harry whispered, taken aback.

"Initiate an unnecessary conversation whenever you wanted to have sex with her?"

"No … no, I didn't."

"Then what is this about?"

"Ah … I should have expected that you would know what's on my mind," Harry sighed, rubbing his chin. "Have I upset you?" he asked resignedly.

"No," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "I'm curious though. There's one thing I've been contemplating for a while and yet I still have no answer. I wonder ...what exactly have I done that made you change your opinion of me so much?"

It was a good question and Harry was certain that no amount of time which Voldemort was willing to wait would help him to find a correct answer.

"I wish I knew," he muttered.

"_You don't know?"_ Voldemort raised his voice in disbelief, his pupils turning into a tiny slits.

"It's different than you think," Harry shook his head. "You don't need a reason to fall in love. It's completely effortless process. I could probably fight it more when I felt the first signs, but quite unfortunately, I don't keep notes about what exactly stirred it up."

Harry instantly regretted making such a direct allusion to Voldemort's diary. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the Dark Lord stopped him by raising his hand.

"You seem quite certain of your feelings," he said instead, dismissing whatever offense - though unmeant - Harry's words might have caused.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, rubbing his palms against the hard texture of his jeans. "I am," he added quietly.

The momentary silence was tense, filled with Harry's secret expectation. Just a little: 'I like you too,' would make his day. But maybe he wanted too much; maybe Voldemort wasn't capable of such a level of affection towards anyone but himself.

"Tell me, what exactly do you like about me?" the Dark Lord said unexpectedly, leaning a little closer to him. "There must be something concrete… Is it my powers … or my influence?"

Harry watched him for a moment and then he reached out for him and let his fingers slide over his pronounced white knuckles towards his narrow wrist.

"Your skin is like a living silk," he said, enjoying that touch and the fact that Voldemort didn't flinch away. "No … it's actually softer than that," he smiled.

"This is it?" the older wizard whispered with surprise and then he sneered. "You like me because of my _skin_?"

"You wanted something concrete … and no, it's definitely not just about _that_," Harry shook his head, his smile growing wider.

"What else then?" Riddle demanded eagerly.

"Your smile," Harry said, taking in the expression of shock on Voldemort's face. "I mean those real smiles, those little slips of humanity you keep showing to me every now and then."

With a monumentally offended look on his face, the Dark Lord rose to his feet and bared his teeth.

"I don't do that!" he snapped, his hand twitching in urge to grasp his wand.

"I love it," Harry insisted calmly. "Very much."

Seeing that Voldemort turned his back to him.

"Enough," he inveighed sharply, his body stiffened with distemper.

"But I forgot to mention your taste," Harry continued, bending over the armrest to see his face. "Did you know that since that accident in the Shrieking Shack I cannot eat raspberries without having randy thoughts about you?"

"Potter," Voldemort bit out a warning, but his voice was far from being cold and imperious.

Harry slowly raised himself to his feet as well, lowering his voice significantly as he came to stand behind him and spoke.

"Fine ...you don't want to hear it. It's a pity though, I wish I could describe the best part."

"What best part?" the Dark Lord hissed, unable to hold back his insatiable curiosity.

Harry circled his arms round his stomach and let the silky, black material slide among his fingers as he moved the left hand upward to the protruding chest. He felt a heartbeat under his palm, fast and erratic just like his own. He could see that quick pulse in a small, sweaty hollow beneath the edge of his jaw. He could smell the slightly salty fragrance of his skin as his nose nearly touched it. Pressing his hips forward, he made sure that Voldemort noticed the state of his arousal. A suppressed gasp was all he needed for a confirmation that the Dark Lord made the discovery.

"Can you feel it? How much you turn me on? Your body is a piece of art for me… here...," Harry whispered huskily and let his hand slowly wander down to his flat belly and lower to a hipbone, "...and here...," he muttered, his palm sliding down his long thigh, "...and here as well." He pushed his pelvis up again, forcing out another slight gasp.

"I want you so much," he breathed out, pressing his lips and nose against the hard shoulder blade. "I've never come as close to my limit as in the Shrieking Shack where I_had to_ jack off while Ron was snoring on a couch next to me." Harry paused and rubbed the tip of his nose against the soft cloth. "Maybe I should correct that statement," he muttered then. "I'm even closer now..."

Voldemort let out a quiet snort, but he kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply, his hands keeping Harry's palms in place.

"Your body heat is amazing," he finally said, his high voice soft like a feather. "It warms me deep down to the bone. It's very rare when I don't feel cold."

After a short hesitation he looked over his shoulder, meeting Harry's gaze.

"And your eyes … they are like an opened book, Harry, and yet you don't avert them before me like most of the others. There's no trace of disgust or shame in them… They have always showed me the truth and it was only my mistake that I didn't want to see it. Nevertheless, I find it amusing how worried you seem now that I might refuse you … you – The-Boy-Who-Lived – the wet dream of a half of the wizarding world."

Voldemort turned around in his loose embrace and leaned down to him, his cool lips touching his earlobe, making him shiver.

"Don't be foolish, Harry. I admit I would have probably opposed most of your suggestions back in France but only because _you_ considered them demeaning." Their eyes met again and Voldemort's lips curled up a little. "None of that really matters to me now. I made up my mind after I thought I've lost you. I realized then how many things would be taken from me if you were gone … how many things would remain concealed from me. I want to know them all."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Did Voldemort really want what he thought he wanted or has he just misunderstood something? He licked his lips quickly and dragged his heels.

"Are you sure?" he whispered the obligatory question, hoping that it would sort the things out.

A very brief 'I don't do that' smile came cross the Dark Lord's lips, disappearing before he answered.

"Always."

A chilly palm sneaked in between them, running down Harry's throat, caressing his chest before moving a little lower to unbutton the rest of his shirt.

"Okay," Harry gasped at the feeling of the cold knuckle against his navel. He caught that pale, spidery hand and took a step back, his body taut with nerves and determination.

"Come," he said gently, leading him over to the bed.

Voldemort sat down, then moved a little farther, lying on his side with one elbow propping him up, his eyes fixed to Harry's face all the time. The relaxed pose was just a pretence though. Harry could see torpor in his shoulders, the quick movement of his chest caused by his hasty, uneven breathing and the thin layer of perspiration on his slightly sunken temples.

"Don't be nervous," he whispered, realizing that he wasn't completely sure to whom he addressed it. He could hardly claim to be more composed than Voldemort as he slowly sat beside him, seizing the lily-white ankle which peered from beneath the black fabric.

"As if I would dare to hurt you," he muttered and kissed that small piece of exposed skin. Harry inserted his hand beneath the clothes, following the curve of his calf up to his knee.

"I wonder...," he said hesitantly, "…if you wouldn't mind to take off your trousers for me?"

The Dark Lord gave him a quizzical look, nevertheless he pulled out his wand form the sleeve and made a little circular motion with his wrist. Then he moved his hips and legs until his bare soles slipped from the heap of clothes. Harry caught them before they could disappear, warmed them between his palms before sneaking his hand back up, feeling the long muscles stiffen under his touch. He rubbed them up and down in order to accustom them to his caresses. Voldemort watched him in silence; Harry could feel that intense stare directed at his face and he met it squarely, giving him a sheepish smile.

**"**_**You're so soft...,"**_ he hissed while his hand explored the thighs hidden in the folds of heavy fabric.

_**"**__**Not everywhere, though,"**_ he chuckled as he accidentally skimmed over the heated centre of the Dark Lord's pleasure, feeling how it twitched under his fingertips.

"Turn around," he whispered softly. The blazing red eyes met his again and Harry took in that sight of those dilated pupils, quivering nostrils and that tongue dabbing the nearly nonexistent upper lip.

"It's all right," he noted, running his hand over the silky skin lightly. It was a surprise to him to hear how calm his own voice sounded, especially since he didn't feel calm at all. His insides were tightly-wired with building pleasure and the sparks of delight were already sending shivers up and down his spine. But the most obvious sign of his desire was the tight constriction of his jeans which was already beyond painful. He knew he couldn't ignore it for much longer.

"Just turn around," he whispered throatily. "I want to … try something. You can stop me anytime you want if you don't like it."

"Careful, boy," Voldemort said, but he moved the way Harry wanted, kneeling on the bed, his face resting on a pillow, "or I'll start experimenting on _you_."

"I'd rather not," Harry chuckled, "…yet," he quickly added as he caught Voldemort's glance.

He leaned over to his ear, missing it by several inches due to their height difference.

"If you feel comfortable with it, close your eyes," he whispered and let his hands slide down his sides and beneath his robes again.

"Feel my hands … feel them...," he continued quietly as the pale eyelids followed his advice. Harry felt the slim body squirm beneath him at first before gradually relaxing to his touches. He tried to take it as slow as possible, savouring the moment. He squeezed his thighs, but only to take some pleasure from touching them and then he moved past the privates towards the shallow navel, circling it with his forefinger and coaxing the first louder moan out of him.

"Do you like it?" he asked breathlessly, rubbing his small nipples with pads of his fingers. "Is it good?"

The Dark Lord nodded imperceptibly and seized Harry's hand over the fabric, directing it rather forcefully towards the omitted area beneath his waist. And Harry began to stroke him slowly, trying to relax him as much as possible. Leaving the robes on was a good idea, he thought briefly as he tried to keep his thoughts in focus. It obviously helped to maintain the Dark Lord's comfort and his self-control.

For a short while.

The wetness at his fingers, the barely suppressed sighs and groans he heard and most of all the flawless curve of that ass against which he pressed his own privates proved to be too much for him regardless of the layers of clothing separating them. The heat was pooling inside him, swiping away his carefully kept self-discipline like a tidal wave.

"I must … _ah_," he gasped, struggling to remove the oppressive jeans. "Tom..."

He set himself free, but it was too late to stop the flood. A whimper escaped his lips and his whole body winced, splattering few drops of milky liquid over Voldemort's black robes.

"Have you just...?" the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow, turning his head on the pillow.

"Sorry … I'll have it back on in a minute," Harry whispered, his face heating up. The latter said nothing to that which only deepened Harry's embarrassment.

"With you here with me…," he muttered, trying to change the topic quickly, "I would really like to know what do you think of love now." As Voldemort contemplated it, Harry shed his own shirt and also pulled down the heavy garments from Riddle's slender shoulders, pretending to be much more interested in fighting hundreds of buttons then hearing the answer.

"It's like an addictive poison," the Dark Lord said after a moment, watching Harry's struggle with his clothes. "Corrupts my every thought and yet I enjoy it."

"Fascinating," Harry breathed out, his hands ceasing their movements. "That's surprisingly accurate."

"Harry...," Voldemort almost purred as he raised himself from the bed to lick his lips and then leaned down to do the same to the tip of his forming erection.

Harry jumped, then swore and then tried to keep his heart from escaping his chest.

"T- Tom … ah … don't..."

"Don't make me wait," the Dark Lord hissed, moving into the previous position. "I want it. I want everything you can give me."

Harry's previous hesitation was gone after hearing this. He scooped the lank body and yanked the crumpled robes down Voldemort's hips, ripping the fabric in the process. He kissed everything he could reach, biting into the more developed muscles occasionally, giving that milky flesh a brief lesson of cruder treatment.

Two fingers forced their way into that tight, dry channel, making the self-proclaimed noble grunt in discomfort, clench his teeth and bury his face into a pillow.

Harry could immediately tell his move was premature and hastily leaned for his wand which was still encased in his jeans, summoning the tray with the rest of his breakfast from the table.

He dipped his fingers into the melting butter and repeated the insertion with a greater care.

"Better?" he whispered, slowly stretching the unyielding walls which clamped hard on his digits.

Voldemort grunted again, but he stopped biting into the cushion which Harry took as a good sign.

"You feel amazing," he breathed against his spine, blindly smearing his hand in the butter again. This time the fingers went inside with ease, though that forceful clench around them abated only a little.

"I love you," Harry whispered, teasing him lightly with his lips and fingertips, trying to distract him from whatever pain he felt.

And it was working, that cool body under his shuddered imperceptibly. The Dark Lord moaned unintelligibly as Harry tightened his grip on him and stretched him faster than before. Judging him ready by the keen sounds he released, Harry used the rest of the butter on himself and pressed forward, slowly moving past the initial resistance.

"Yes … oh … yes … you feel so..."

The Dark Lord's back arched into the air, his mouth hanging open, his long claws tearing the silky bed-cloth.

His muscles squeezed him hard, forcing a tirade of curses through Harry's lips.

"Oh... sweet Merlin … Tom … don't do this to me … I can't … _ah_..."

He mostly pulled out and trusted back in, feeling how Voldemort's body winced before hearing his soft, pleasured sigh.

"Are you … all right?" Harry stuttered out, losing all coherency.

"More...," came an icy whine from the pillow.

_**"**__**Yes … there...,"**_ he hissed as Harry set a slow, controlled pace.

The quiet hisses however turned into a furious snarl when Harry pulled away completely and turned him on his back.

"I'm here," the youngster hushed him, placing a gentle kiss to the depression beneath the exposed collarbone. In return, Voldemort wrapped his long legs around his waist and pulled him closer, raising his hips suggestively.

And Harry sank back into that pleasant, tight warmth, loving that incredible feeling of their bodies joining into one. He thought he knew quite a lot about sex, but this was still something completely different. It was nothing he imagined or remembered. The body under his didn't have the proper shape, the moans and whimpers weren't properly sweet, the temperature of the skin against his wasn't properly hot and sweaty, but still it felt thousand times better than any of his previous encounters.

Voldemort came first and Harry was undone. Never before he brought his partner to the climax during the actual act. He had only seconds to experience the feeling of the strong spasms coursing through his lover before he also succumbed to the bliss. With a last forceful thrust he buried himself to the hilt, his head lolling backwards, his lips opened in a silent scream.

And then it was over and he was kissing him, his lips, flat nose, eyelids, earlobes, whispering sweet nonsense. He lay down beside him them, watching his unmoving features, waiting for some response … any response.

"Tom?" he whispered as the man continued staring at the ceiling in wonder.

Finally, the Dark Lord let out a satisfied sigh and turned his head to him. The corners pale lips curled up, the blood red eyes shining with delight.

"Once more," he whispered and pulled him closer.

_**R&R**_

_***Parseltongue**_


	16. Redemption

**Author's note: **Thank you all very much for the amazing response to the last chapter! You made my life brighter!

Special thanks to: **TheSecretUchiha**

Rating of this chapter:** T**

**Redemption**

xxxxx

_London, Ministry of Magic_

_2nd January 2001, 02:30_

xxxxx

There were many strange rooms in the Department of Mysteries, but only very few of them could leave a deeper impact than the Death Chamber. It was a large, dimly lit place with a rectangular shape and a sunken centre, forming a great stone pit twenty feet deep. An impressive ancient looking stone archway with a long, oddly fluttering black veil stood in the middle of this strange room, disturbing and yet inviting.

The smell of death was omnipresent, emanating from the archway, the floor and the ceiling and also from the three ornate, ebony coffins which lay on the long marble pedestals before that gate to unknown. A pair of ice-cold, navy blue eyes watched their polished black surface and also the unceasingly fluctuating veil illuminated by dozens of black candles. The person stood stiffly before that scenery, his chest didn't move with breath and the lack of life signs made him appear like a statue guarding the eternal rest of those who passed beyond.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes into hours without any detectable change in the man's demeanour. However, even this seemingly infinite moment ended as something shifted in the dark. The presence of a new entity made the man turn his head aside and listen.

The quietness spread around for another long moment, until the Leader spoke to the newcomer quietly.

"I planned to come here tonight," he said quietly. "I intended to bring Voldemort here to show Leontina and Gaston that they didn't die in vain." He waved his hand towards the coffins, while silence spread over the room again. "And I would have if Nestor didn't fail me."

The other man slowly descended to take the place beside the Leader, keeping the black hood deep over his face.

"Harry Potter has faced numerous attempts on his life since he was a child. Therefore, he's ready to fight even when the others have already given up. Nestor didn't bother to consider him a significant threat and he paid for it," he spoke calmly.

"Yes, I made a mistake when I assigned him that task," the Leader nodded slowly. "I made more than one mistake yesterday, though … and I must set them right in person as soon as possible."

There was another momentary silence, which Negura's subordinate interrupted with a barely audible whisper.

"The longer we stay here the more risky it becomes. Voldemort wouldn't bring the _Inferi_ to the Ministry to slay the vampires if they were members of his own troops as we proclaim. I'm certain that Rita Skeeter is aware of that and she has no intention to keep it for herself."

"I know what you want to say, but I cannot go into hiding yet, Cuthbert," Negura answered coldly, looking at him by the corner of an eye. "Besides, you don't have to worry about Skeeter, or public opinion. They will all show me their support once I have defeated Voldemort."

"You're the Leader," the other man bowed a little, disapproving but obedient. "You decide."

Then he raised his pointy chin and spoke again.

"Please, excuse my curiosity, but if we are about to continue in this, wouldn't it be more prudent to kill Umbridge, take the Elder Wand and enhance your chances against the Dark Lord?"

Negura turned his sight back to the coffins and he watched them for several moments before speaking quietly.

"No. I must keep Dolores Umbridge around for a little longer," he said. "Besides, if I became the master of the Deathstick as you suggest, it would make my situation even more dangerous and unpredictable. Possession of that wand is a temptation I must resist."

"Dangerous, my Leader?" Cuthbert whispered, a first hint of surprise and curiosity leaking into his detached voice.

"Exactly. Though I'm sure that the wand would fulfil my every wish and whim, I would tempt fates too much," Negura said and looked at his companion again. "I'm certain you've heard the legends about the Wand of Destiny, haven't you? A careful listener cannot miss their point. They all end the same – by the death of its righteous owner. I did a small research on that part some time ago and indeed, everyone who ever won the Elder Wand's favour eventually died in some forcible way. The wand is ill-fated and as long as it exists it will carry that curse from wizard to wizard. I've decided not to lay my hand on it unlike Voldemort and Potter, who, according to my assumption, were both afflicted by that curse. My refusal to possess that wand gives me an advantage and it would be foolish of me if I didn't use it."

"It sounds like you have a plan, My Leader."

"Maybe... Voldemort and Potter have a common weakness and I intend to attack it," he said pensively, his eyes watching the gently swaying curtain before them.

"It's time to bring an end to this," he added then, his voice losing its colour and tone, becoming ice-cold just like his eyes. "Go find that Weasley boy, Cuthbert. If he is still alive, bring him to me. I'm counting on his endeavour to convey my message to my treacherous little godson."

xxxxx

_72 Abbey Road, Axminster_

_2nd January 2001, 12:20_

xxxxx

A tiny, golden ray of light wormed its way through the dark, heavy curtains and caressed Harry's face. The youngster stirred a bit, yawned and finally stretched his stiff body. The bed was so amazingly soft that even though he was fully rested, he wouldn't mind turning on his other side and simply falling back asleep.

Instead, he shifted onto his elbows and rubbed his sleepy eyes, nearly knocking the glasses off his nose. After massaging his numb neck and yawning profusely, he finally took a look around. The room was semi-dark and still pleasantly warm, though the flames in the fireplace were long since extinguished. Harry sank back onto his pillow, enjoying the peaceful quiet disrupted only by a soft breathing of his sleeping companion. With a fond smile on his lips, Harry looked at the Dark Lord's bare shoulders adorned with a large imprint of wings and at his long, lily-white nape with a pronounced dark bruise on its base. Unable to resist, he gently brushed the purple kiss mark with his forefinger, making Voldemort stir in response.

With his heart melting in tenderness, Harry moved closer to him, careful to make as little noise as possible. Pushing the spectacles up his nose, he leaned over his lover's bony frame to see his face. As he expected, the man was still fast asleep. Those searing red eyes were covered by snow-white eyelids, the narrow, serpentine nostrils quivered as the air rushed through them, the thin, white lips were set into a stern line and his nonexistent eyebrows were drawn together, giving his face a thoughtful expression. Harry barely held back a jovial chuckle. Even when asleep, Tom looked like he was solving some highly elaborate problem.

Stifling his mirth, Harry watched him for several long moments, feeling how his amusement slowly turned into pure, unadulterated joy. He was happy with Ginny too, but it wasn't like this by far. They were both too young back then, overwhelmed by nervousness and embarrassment to properly enjoy any form of intimacy. He was older and more experienced now, but it still totally amazed him how this man - a dark lord who he used to fear and despise more than anyone else – could make him feel this way.

After another minute of silent adoration Harry gingerly nestled against him to keep him warm and closed his eyes, soon falling asleep again and having a bizarre dream where he and Voldemort were on a visit to his parents and everyone was happy, polite and nice to the point that Harry started to believe that his parents really liked the Dark Lord and vice versa. His mom then told him that he should fetch her sister because she was invited too and so he mounted his Firebolt and flew to Surrey. But his aunt wasn't happy to see him. She locked him under the stairs, shrieking hateful insults at him in her shrill voice, ignoring all his attempts to explain himself.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Totally confused by his vivid dream, Harry was certain that he was still in his dark, small cupboard and Petunia was rapping on the door to wake him up so he could make a breakfast for Dudley.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

"Yeah... yeah ... I'm getting up...," he muttered sleepily, only to be interrupted by a strange vicious hiss coming from his bed.

Harry snapped his eyes open, completely dumbstruck. Someone else was in his bed? What the hell...?

And then Lord Voldemort emerged from the nest of sheets, spitting curses in Parseltongue, his scarlet eyes gleaming in fury, his naked body - Harry gulped in bewilderment - his totally awesome naked body getting dressed with a single flick of his wand...

"Huh?" Harry murmured, even though he knew already that it wasn't his aunt who stood behind the door to the Dark Lord's private chambers.

**"_Stay where you are!"_** Voldemort snapped at him as Harry began to scramble out of the bed as well.

"You are not going to let them in, are you?" he managed to protest while groping for his wand so he could summon his underpants.

Tap! Tap...!

But Voldemort was at the door already, unlocking it swiftly with another flick of his wand and the next second whoever stood behind it burst inside. Harry didn't wait to see who it was and rather dove under the blankets. The absolutely last thing he wanted at the moment was to flash his privates at Voldemort's minions.

"_You..._," a cold hiss reached his ears."As I recall, you were strictly forbidden to disturb me unless the matter of the utmost emergency!"

A loud thud followed, as if the person decided to drop dead on the floor in advance.

"M- … My … Lord," came out a weak, stuttering squeak and Harry silently cursed. He was about to do the lifeless dropping now.

He knew that Fate hated him ever since he was born, but this … this was too much. Out of all the Death Eaters who could possibly enter this room, why it had to be _Draco Malfoy?-!_

Biting his lip to stifle his frustration, Harry tried his best to pretend that he wasn't there, which was a difficult thing to do for someone who was desperately trying to get dressed into his briefs under the blankets.

"So?" Voldemort asked quietly, dangerously. Malfoy whimpered; he had to feel the retribution swirling in the air.

"M-My Lord, I beg your mercy … but I had to disturb you … I had to tell you," Draco sobbed loudly. "He's … he's coming here, My Lord … and the Aurors are on the way too!"

Harry stopped trying to adjust the crumpled fabric between his thighs and now he lay unmoving, listening to their conversation.

"Negura is coming here? And why should that bother me?" Voldemort whispered. "He cannot enter this place. Concerning the Aurors, they won't even be able to see it. If that's all what you wanted to say..."

"No, please, no My Lord!" Malfoy wailed pathetically. "He wants the Aurors to place the Anti-Disapparation Jinx around this Manor!"

Harry peeped at them from beneath the duvet, seeing Voldemort tilt his head to one side as he considered it.

"How strange," he hissed coldly a moment later. "What a meaningless action. He cannot really think that he would be able to keep me inside."

"No, Master..., " Draco choked, looking up in fear, his face wet from tears. "Percy … I mean Weasley … he said that the Leader merely wants to keep the Aurors preoccupied while he's busy broadening his ranks again."

"And his target will be?"

Harry throat tightened as he watched Draco curl on the floor, his back raising and falling with heavy breath.

"Pre – presumably magicians, My Lord," he whispered fearfully.

"I see. Since the Ministry is empty, depopulated...," Voldemort hissed quietly, twirling the yew wand between his fingers, "and so is Azkaban and Diagon Alley, it means that he intends to attack..."

Harry, intently following the course of Voldemort's thoughts, reached the conclusion sooner before the Dark Lord had a chance to voice it.

"No. NO. Fucking NO!" he screamed and jumped from the bed, kicking off the blankets which tangled around his ankles.

"Don't _you dare to_ tell me that he intends to attack … _Hogwarts_!" he sputtered out, striding towards Voldemort, his hands trembling in horror and agitation. A loud, undignified squeak escaped Draco's mouth but Harry had his eyes only for the Dark Lord.

"The children are back in the school already," the older wizard said coolly. "Which makes Hogwarts his easiest target at the moment."

Harry's knees buckled at that. He fought down his stupor eventually and quickly began to pull out his jeans from a heap of clothes on the floor, shaking them out mechanically. With a quiet chink a small, silver ring fell out of the pocket and rolled towards Draco, who still sat on the polished parquets, gazing at him in utter bewilderment.

Harry paid none of that any attention.

"He cannot... Don't tell me that he can breach so many protective enchantments just by himself, " he said, contemplating what Voldemort told him.

"You surely haven't forgotten, Harry, that the basic protection of the school is mostly provided by the Ministry, have you?" the Dark Lord responded coldly.

"Of course, I know that! But it doesn't mean that he can enter Hogwarts whenever he wants, does it?" Harry insisted, but a cold fear washed over his after seeing Voldemort's expression.

"Quite the opposite. I'm certain that he can."

Harry caught by the corner of an eye that Draco seized Desalmado's ring, but he didn't let it distract him. Voldemort told him that Negura kept his Horcrux on his hand which meant that this ring was just an insignificant piece of silver. Not that he ever really considered it to be something more than that. Turning his head back to the Dark Lord, his thoughts refocused on Hogwarts and he raised his voice a bit.

"Why didn't you tell me about this risk then?-! I could have warned the Order! We would have days and days to enhance that protection multiple times!"

"I didn't expect this either!" Voldemort snapped back just as icily. "Secrecy has always been Negura's priority! But now he feels threatened. That's why he's breaking all the rules!"

Harry threaded his hand through his wild hair and growled in desperation.

"Perfect. Now I must tell Minerva to evacuate the whole school immediately."

"If it is still possible," Voldemort retorted. "Cutting off the connection to the Floo network and blocking the secret passages would be the first step. If this is done already, a complete evacuation before the nightfall will be infeasible."

"DAMMIT!" Harry cried out, tearing some of his hair out. "I have to stop him then! Tell me more about his Horcrux - I'm certain he wore two rings yesterday - one with a gem and one without it. Which one did he show you? Which one must be destroyed?-!"

Voldemort seized his armpit, lowering his voice into an icy hiss.

"Negura is mine to kill!"

"Yeah, I've heard this one before and yet he's still running around, killing hundreds of people...!"

"Malfoy!" Voldemort interrupted Harry's tirade coldly and turned to the blonde who was busy crawling away unnoticed. "Inform my troops that the next meeting place will be in Hogsmeade. I will summon you when the time comes."

"Y- yes, My Lord," Draco whimpered and disappeared in a manner of seconds.

"What?-! Have you lost your mind?-!" Harry hissed once they were alone. "You cannot possibly bring them to the Hogsmeade! The Order will throw a fit!"

"Aren't you their leader, Harry?" Voldemort sneered. "Shouldn't they listen to _you _in the first place? Convince them not to attack me and they have nothing to fear from me. But I must be sure they will not try to hinder me or worse, protect Negura."

"They will not do that," Harry said resolutely.

"Really?" the Dark Lord said and Harry realized that he shouldn't be speaking instead of his friends.

"And what makes you think they will consider me lesser evil?"

"I don't know," Harry whispered. "And this is exactly why it cannot work. I can't imagine the Death Eaters and the Order fighting _together_ against _anything_."

"My Death Eaters will do what I ask them to do," the Dark Lord said with an unwavering certainty.

"Maybe, but my friends aren't bound to _serve_ me," Harry replied. "Nor do they have to listen to me. However, the fact stays the same. If we fail to unite our forces tonight, the future of the wizarding world can be lost for good. I must appeal to their common sense..."

"I'm glad you see the point."

Harry nodded stiffly.

"You still haven't told me which one of Negura's rings must be destroyed," he said quietly.

Voldemort made three steps towards the opened door, but halted and after a brief hesitation turned back to him. His red eyes seemed somehow dulled, lacking the bright shine from today's early morning. Though it was completely out-of-place, Harry suddenly felt an urge to come over to him and kiss him until they were both breathless, basking in the revived feelings of harmony and pleasure. Biting his lower lip, he tried to restrain similar thoughts.

"It is the one without the gem," Voldemort said softly, distracting Harry from his muse. "The one which he wears on his left hand."

"Okay," Harry whispered and a strange silence slowly filled the space between them as he began to dressed himself. If only it weren't so awkward now that they both were apparently thinking about what happened several hours ago. It would be much easier for Harry if he could discuss it with Tom after they woke up, but Draco spoiled his plans and this didn't seem to be the best moment either. He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck.

But he couldn't just pass it by.

"Er … the last night was amazing. I just … want you to know how … how much I liked it and … how you make me feel," Harry muttered, blushing slightly as he met the pair of curious red eyes. "Er … let's … yeah, let's go kick some vampiric ass now," he stammered and grazed the Dark Lord's hand with his own as he passed him on the way out of the bedroom.

xxxxx

_Hogsmeade_

_2nd January 2001, 15:58_

xxxxx

The weather to the north was usually wetter and colder than in Surrey or in London, but damn, nothing could prepare Harry for such a blizzard. The chilliness bit into his skin with a raw force, swiftly sneaking under his fingernails and jacket, making his teeth chatter. The strong gusts of wind chased millions of snowflakes over the darkening sky, covering the landscape in a bluish-white haze. Harry eventually managed to get his discomfort under control and took a quick survey of the empty main street, searching for any sign of danger.

"Malfoy's still got my Invisibility cloak," he muttered through his clenched teeth and turned to Voldemort. "I definitely want it back."

"I can teach you how to become invisible without a cloak," the Dark Lord responded and pulled the cape of his cloak closer to his face, apparently just as displeased by the storm as Harry was. "It would be indeed practical now," he added matter-of-factly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned their surroundings with even greater attention than Harry did, "since this weather is quite certainly his doing."

"He … Negura is responsible for _this_?" Harry gasped, looking quickly around in case he would see him prowling through the snowy mist.

"To the best of my knowledge … yes."

"Well … then you can do something about it, can't you?" Harry asked hopefully, protecting his face from another strong gust.

"Like casting a counter curse so he would know right away that we are here already?" the Dark Lord smirked but there was no mirth in his scarlet eyes.

"Oh well, whatever you say," Harry sighed and pointed his finger at a blurry outline of the Hog's Head in the distance.

"This way," he said and set out towards the small, dingy looking pub.

Once they reached the shabby building, Harry stepped up on the porch and raised his hand to knock on the mouldering door.

"This is the current Headquarters of the Order. Well … not exactly, but it serves its purpose... So, whatever they say about you being here, please, control yourself and don't hurt them, okay?" he said quietly as he seized the knob.

Voldemort didn't seem to listen. He took a step backward and then another one, his piercing red eyes analyzing every shadow, his tiny nostrils sniffing the wintry air.

"What is it?" Harry whispered.

"I smell deceit...," the Dark Lord whispered, his flattened nose wrinkling a little. "This place is not safe. It would be wiser to leave."

At first, Harry could only goggle his eyes at him.

"Not safe? What do you mean by that? And what about Hogwarts?-! What about _your_ school? You intend to leave it unprotected?"

"It is possible that Negura has given Malfoy false information. I do not intend to play this game when the freak dictates the rules. I much rather make mine."

"And what if it is not a trap?-!" Harry said, still bewildered. "You let them _all_ die?-! _Everyone_?-!"

The Dark Lord wrinkled his flat nose again, but this time in clear detestation.

"If I wanted to rule a bunch of vampires, I would join Negura," he said threateningly and pushed back the sleeve from his left forearm, revealing his Dark Mark.

Harry nearly toppled over in shock.

"STOP!" he yelped. "For Merlin's sake don't touch it now! If the members of the Order see you summoning the Death Eaters they will..."

"No one's inside, Potter!" Voldemort snapped harshly, retracting his hand, his eyes gleaming with fury. "Why don't you go and have a look?"

Harry's heart missed several beats as he burst inside the Hog's Head, seeing no one, just an empty room. The place looked just as always, Harry couldn't see any signs of fight whatsoever. The bay windows were still encrusted with grime, the stubs of candles were still sitting on rough wooden tables and the floor still held the filth of centuries. Yet, no one was there just as Voldemort proclaimed and the youngster hardly fought back a panic attack.

"Aberforth!" he cried out, running behind the counter. "Kingsley?"

Hurrying over to the painting above the mantelpiece, Harry noticed that Ariana wasn't in her portrait either.

"Something had to happen to them," he whispered, and staggered, clutching his wand in his sweaty fingers. "Why didn't I go with Ron and Hermione? How could I be so … selfish?"

"Typical Harry Potter … always worrying about everyone but himself," Voldemort said indifferently while joining him before the empty portrait.

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead distractedly.

"Well, I guess I stopped worrying about myself the moment I'd learned I was predestined to become Nagini's dinner."

Voldemort momentarily froze, but his face betrayed no emotion.

"Don't say her name," he hissed when their eyes met.

"Why? We cannot change our past nor we can hide before it so..."

"I said don't speak about her!"

Harry turned away from him, looking back at the painting. He stared at it blankly, biting his lower lip, pretending he didn't see how much he managed to upset the Dark Lord. Instead, he wondered how he was supposed to get into the castle when Ariana wasn't there to open the passage. He needed to discover why the Order left the Hog's Head. Maybe they assisted McGonagall with the evacuation of the school since Percy certainly warned them too. But this was just a speculation and the painting which held the answers kept the entrance to Hogwarts closed, staying as empty as before.

Voldemort meanwhile took a few steps away from him, still hissing something under his breath. Feeling like an insensitive jerk, Harry reluctantly glanced at him, ashamed of himself a little.

"I understand that you miss your snake," he began in a quiet, conciliatory voice. "I miss Sheena too."

"Only you know nothing of Nagini's importance to me aside the fact that she used to be my Horcrux," Voldemort snapped back bitterly, icily, making Harry shiver.

"No, I don't. You're right...," the youngster admitted begrudgingly, watching Voldemort's back. Indeed, there were many things he didn't know about him and he wasn't sure if he ever will be allowed to learn them. Although Harry wouldn't mind if the Dark Lord kept his absolutely worst secrets for himself, he couldn't deny his desire to be closer to him, to share some deeper connection. What he dreaded for all those years, he was missing now… He wouldn't even mind that constant headache, if only he could be once again a part of his world, of his life. But that was impossible... Harry barely stifled a sigh. Anyway, how long will it take before they'll be able to speak about their past openly? Months? Years? Will they ever do it?

"I found Nagini during my exile in Albania," the Dark Lord began all of a sudden, surprising Harry greatly. Albeit he still kept his back turned to him, Harry was able to see his thoughtful face through the reflection in the window. "As you know, I inhabited animals at that time – snakes naturally being my preference. I felt little better inside them than as pure spirit, but my possession of them shortened their lives significantly. None of them lasted long … none except for her. I didn't feel like a _parasite_ when I was with her … it was more like a symbiosis. Controlling her was nearly as comfortable as possessing a human body. She helped me a great deal to maintain my focus when I was losing my mind completely. She gave me the strength when I needed it the most and kept the pain at a bay when I couldn't stand it anymore. I promised her eternal life for all of that..."

Harry tore his eyes from him and listened to his quiet steps as he came over to him while pretending his interest in the ornate frame of Ariana's picture. Until this moment he was convinced that the Dark Lord was fond of Nagini only because she was his Horcrux. It didn't occur to him that Voldemort had to consider her special even _before_ that or else he would hardly be willing to share his soul with her or keep her around forever.

"You … really liked her, didn't you?" he asked quietly after an awkward pause which led to another, even more embarrassing silence. He hated to be the reason why the only living creature able to rouse Voldemort's affection was dead. And he was jealous of her too – of a snake, which was rather absurd and ridiculous.

Harry was just about to dismiss that mutually hurtful question when suddenly, the white, skeletal hand was lifted and directed at his face. Expecting Voldemort's anger, Harry instinctively winced and leaned away, but it was late; he could already feel the touch of his fingers at the back of his head. The fingers wove their way through his unruly hair, cool and surprisingly gentle, before running down along his jaw and over his throbbing pulse point to the small hollow on the base of his neck.

Harry froze where he stood. The chilly touch slid across his throat with the softest pressure, the fingernails scraping his skin slightly, leaving tingling, invisible marks. The fingers retracted their path, moving slowly upward, following his hairline to his forehead, where they traced his lightening scar with care. Voldemort moved closer to him, attaching his thin lips to that mark and staying like that for several blissful seconds. And Harry understood then than he didn't lose anything that there was still a deep attachment between them, a desire for proximity expressed by a gesture which couldn't be anything else than a _loving _caress.

Words weren't always necessary. Sometimes, it was even better not to use them.

Slowly, Harry put his arms around him, drew his face down and they kissed, gently, lips brushing against lips over and over.

_'I love you...,'_ he sent him in his thoughts and the tightening of the clutch in his hair told him that the Dark Lord felt and appreciated his sentiment. Harry smiled and pulled back slightly, drowning in the depths of those unusual scarlet eyes for some time, before slowly turning his head to the painting again, enjoying peacefulness spreading through his chest.

"I'm surprised," Harry whispered after a moment, a small smile still playing on his lips, "That you're not curious about why am I so interested in that picture."

"You mean the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore which is guarding the not so secret entrance to Hogwarts?"

"What?" Harry stepped out of his embrace, his face displaying an unconcealed surprise. "You knew about it … you knew all the time...?-!"

"I didn't know about it before the Battle of Hogwarts," the Dark Lord said dismissively and straightened his back a little. "However, I managed to collect much information about you and the Order during the past three years."

"Yeah… can't say it surprises me," Harry nodded slowly.

"Fascinating past Dumbledore had, didn't he?" Voldemort whispered, glancing up at the painting and then back at Harry. "I've got a chance to discuss it with the most reliable source of all – Grindelwald himself. When I questioned him about the Elder Wand I became particularly curious about why he had always considered Ariana to be his greatest weapon against that old fool."

"Dumbledore," Harry corrected him coldly, "He feared that he killed his own sister by accident when he was fighting Grindelwald."

"That's right. It was his fault that she died."

Harry stiffened, but then he shook his head slowly.

"I don't want to hear about it. No matter what happened at that time, he wasn't a murderer," he whispered and yet he couldn't ease the growing lump in his throat.

"No," Voldemort snorted and looked back at the portrait. "He wasn't. According to your philosophy, Harry, he was something worse than that."

"Worse?" Harry gasped. "There's nothing worse!"

"Isn't it?" Voldemort whispered, his eyes glinting strangely. "When Grindelwald cast the Killing Curse, your precious Dumbledore avoided it in rush, thinking only of himself and his own safety instead of his family members. His sister didn't have to die; she was merely stupid when she sought out protection behind her brother's back. Grindelwald saw it happen while Dumbledore couldn't. You see, rather than face the truth, your beloved Headmaster preferred to stay in the dark for many … many years. He was a _coward_ as I've told you many times. He never stepped out of his own shadow. It was easier for him to live that way, I think...," Voldemort grinned, his voice shaking with malicious pleasure.

"Dumbledore wasn't a coward!" Harry sputtered out, anger pulsing in his veins. "He wasn't perfect, I know that, but stop talking about him like that! Do you still hate him so much because he was so bent on killing you?-! If yes then why don't you hate me too?-! Why don't you mock my suffering too?-!"

The amused expression withered from the pale face instantly and the searing red eyes narrowed as they took in Harry's face.

"Why do you think he admired you so much?" the Dark Lord hissed calmly again, undisturbed by Harry's reaction. "Why were you his Golden Boy, a perfect conductor of his great plan? Because you were strong where he was weak. He knew from his own experience that he was incapable of self-sacrifice. He feared death like everyone else..."

"Dumbledore _didn't_ fear death. I'm sure he would have sacrificed himself for Ariana if he knew that she stood behind him," Harry retorted.

"_You can't know that."_

"He sacrificed himself instead of … for me … in the cave where your locket was hidden," Harry said and pointed at the golden pendant on Voldemort's chest.

The Dark Lord's eyes bore into Harry's and they shared for a moment one of Harry's worst memories. The one where Dumbledore was lying on the hard, cold rock, begging for death, his awfully burnt hand reaching for him desperately.

If Voldemort found it amusing, he didn't show it. His face was like a mask again.

"Suited him right," he hissed curtly. "But if he was dying already as you told me during the Battle of Hogwarts, if he couldn't save himself no matter what, what kind of self-sacrifice was that?"

Harry bit his lip hard and came over to sit on one of the tables. He knew that this was meaningless. This conversation could take many hours and yet neither of them would be willing to change their opinion.

"Let's not argue about that now, okay?" Harry tried to approach it wisely. "We've lost too much time here anyway. I need to contact the Order or else we won't be able to coordinate the resistance properly. Since this passageway is obviously closed and I don't think it would be a good idea to knock on the main gate when Negura is probably prowling around, we must find another way how to get to Hogwarts undiscovered."

"That would be inadequately time consuming and impractical. Pity … if your _friends_ had the Dark Mark, I could summon them here without any difficulties. This way, I believe I have to count on my forces only...," Voldemort said bemusedly, ignoring Harry's astounded stare. "No matter ... killing Negura must be the first step. I must not fail in this for without their Leader the vampires will be disunited and much lesser threat."

"What?" Harry gasped as he couldn't believe what he just heard him say. He didn't know if he should feel astounded or insulted. "Most of my friends are Muggle-borns and blood traitors. You want them to join you? You don't care about blood purity anymore?"

"Their descent is very important to me!" Voldemort hissed, his eyes gleaming red. "Nevertheless, they are _alive_, Potter, which with Negura's speed of uprooting our world is the greatest benefit they can have."

"Wow," Harry muttered, shaking his head. "I must warn Hermione that you might want to recruit her."

"Not her," Voldemort snapped curtly.

"Why not? Isn't she talented enough?" Harry asked and snorted at that thought.

"I will not keep your mistresses in my army."

"_Excuse me?"_

"What is it, Potter? Didn't you have sex with her? You think that I'm not aware that she traveled with you three years ago?"

Harry was baffled again. Voldemort being jealous of Hermione was just as absurd as he wanting her in his troops. He was about to burst out in laughter but fortunately stopped himself in the last second. He was the one who was jealous of the _snake_ a moment ago and that sort of canceled all his jeers and taunts.

"No, I didn't sleep with her," he said composedly, only with a trace of amusement in his voice. "She's always been in love with Ron, who - for your information - traveled with us as well … for most of the time at least. Besides, I was in love with Ginny at that time."

"If that is so, you should warn your _Hermione _then," Voldemort whispered.

"What?-!" Harry choked out in surprise.

"That I might want to recruit her."

"WHAT?-!"

A little smile flashed on the pallid lips, making Harry howl in both laughter and indignation.

"You were kidding me! You were _seriously_ kidding me! You are INCREDIBLE!" he screamed, laughing, slamming his fist onto the table.

"That's an understatement," replied a pleasant, melodic and horrifyingly familiar voice.

Everything froze.

Harry's breath, his heart, his movement, his jovial mood.

"How very cruel of me to interrupt your little sweetheart chatter..."

Harry's silent pray for a hallucination remained unheard for the voice was back, sly and cunning. Turning his head slowly to the mantelpiece, Harry saw Ariana's portrait opened and a tall man standing at the entrance to a narrow corridor, pointing his wand at him while his icy blue eyes were fixed to the Dark Lord.

"Ahh … yes," he clicked his tongue against his palate. "Have you missed me much … _my Master_?"

Voldemort visibly bristled at that, green sparkles leaving the tip of his yew wand which was already pointed at the vampire's chest.

"I know that you momentarily prefer Potter's pitiful company," Negura drawled out, his cold eyes narrowing slightly, "which I find rather disappointing."

As he continued to speak, Harry shook off his first shock only to tense in horror instead. Negura … Negura coming through Ariana's painting … How long had Negura been in the castle? Minutes? _Hours?_ How was it possible? What about his friends, the Order, the students?

Harry tightened the clutch on his wand. However, the moment he raised it to curse the vampire, he was stopped by Voldemort's piercing hiss.

**"_Don't."_**

"Do you want to kill me, Potter?" Negura smirked poignantly, never looking directly at him though for his eyes regarded Voldemort only. "You can try it, boy, because I am going to kill you in the end. And I hope it will hurt you _very much_."

Harry tried to ignore the chilly waves running down his spine. His heart was pounding fiercely against his chest bone as his eyes located the silver ring on Negura's left hand. If only he could find a way to get to it over the wand which protected it.

Harry, quickly considering the options, was distracted by the sound of quick running steps resounding from the corridor.

"Hmm ... do you hear it, _my sweet Master_? The Aurors are coming for you. You've lost and you know that. Now, lower your wand and I assure you that you will not be harmed...," Negura whispered softly, gently and very, very falsely.

"No, don't listen to him!" Harry gasped but fortunately Voldemort had absolutely no intention to follow Negura's orders and the vampire seemed to expect that much. The Dark Lord remained still like a statue, completely unresponsive except of his calculating eyes.

"I naturally have faster reflexes than you," the vampire continued in a whisper. "You cannot beat me in this. You think you can kill me? But not sooner before I killed Potter. "

Still no apparent movement, no response from the Dark Lord.

"Drop your wand, Voldemort! Or watch what I'll do to your precious boy if you continue to ignore me. I will count to three...," the Leader's voice grew colder.

Someone else stepped out of the passage and Harry sacrificed a second to see who it was.

It was indeed the Aurors as Negura said.

An imminent life threat for Voldemort, but a certain security for the school and his friends who were probably busy protecting the students.

"One...," Negura began and Harry turned his head back to him and adjusted the hold on his wand. The vampire was terribly mistaken if he thought that he would just stand there, waiting to be slaughtered.

"Two..."

Harry afforded himself a quick glance at Tom. Their eyes met for the slightest fraction of the second and yet it was enough for Voldemort to tell him what to do.

_Be ready._

So he wanted to attack first. He was after the Horcrux. Harry looked back at Negura, and pushed his other hand into his jeans, seizing the Basilisk's fang.

More Aurors appeared at the passage's entrance, slipping into the room one after one, not attacking yet...

"Th...," Negura opened his mouth with a distinct finality.

"Have it your way," Voldemort interrupted him coldly and raised his wand a bit, his loose sleeve sliding down his pale forearm to his elbow.

"Have it your way, then," he repeated, ignoring confused glances of wizards and witches who were trying to puzzle out his and especially Harry's strange behavior.

A brief smile flashed on Negura's lips, which didn't seem to disturb the Dark Lord in the slightest.

"But first," Voldemort said with a small smile, "shouldn't your current 'co-workers' learn a little more about _you_, Dragomir?"

With that he brought his long bony forefinger to his bared forearm, pressing it hard against the Dark Mark.

Negura, taken by surprise, yelped in pain and instinctively clutched at his hand and that was exactly the moment Harry was waiting for. He disarmed him with a flick of his wand and while Voldemort flew up high to the ceiling, overcoming the distance between him and Negura in a split second, Harry pulled out the fang and threw it in the air too. Voldemort grasped Negura's left hand and slammed it against the wall while with the other he caught the fang and stabbed the silver ring with a flawless precision.

It cracked with a dull metal sound and the fang cut through Negura's finger.

For some reason, Harry didn't feel victorious. His instincts were telling him that something went wrong and a moment later his worst expectations were confirmed.

There was no cry of fury, no terror written all over the Leader's face. Instead, the vampire smirked coldly, grasped Voldemort's robes and pulled him closer.

"Sorry, _sugar_ … but I lied. It's not the ring," Negura whispered almost apologetically with a truly horrific smile on his lips. "Do you hate me for that?" he added innocently.

Harry's knees nearly gave out.

They were wrong! They got it wrong! The realization obliterated all his thoughts as he watched Voldemort scream in rage and swing his arm to thrust the fang into Negura's chest. He came to senses when seeing that the Dark Lord was completely unaware of the attacking Aurors...

"TOM! Behind you!" Harry shrieked out, before being caught and dragged into safety by someone who stood behind him.

Thanks to his warning Voldemort dodged the curse and stunned the audacious Auror who sent it … however just a second of his inattention was all Negura needed to retrieve his wand.

Harry squirmed himself out of the Auror's clutch and dashed forward, casting the Shield Charm to protect the Dark Lord from a number of Stunners while he was preoccupied with Negura's powerful curse.

Somehow they ended up back to back in the middle of a narrow circle, Harry facing Aurors, Voldemort pointing his wand at Negura.

They stopped fighting as quickly as they began. The Aurors were apparently reluctant to risk Harry's life, whispering among themselves words like Imperiused and Confounded.

Harry didn't hear them. He was still shaken. They got it wrong. How could they stop Negura now? He needed a moment to think about it, so he could see where did they make the mistake, only he didn't have any time and so he tried to process it in the run. Voldemort said something about Negura breaking all the rules and this was a great example of his altered behaviour. But, how will they get out of this mess now?

**"_Get out of here, Potter. Leave this to me,"_** Voldemort hissed and Harry, happy to escape his dreary thoughts, turned his full attention to him.

**"_Not a chance. I won't leave you here surrounded by twenty Aurors and Negura. You may be the best but this is impossible."_**

**"_I don't need your..."_**

**"_I'm staying!"_**

Harry noticed that their argument in Parseltongue unsettled the already nervous Aurors, just as the sounds of Apparating Death Eaters outside of the inn. However, they couldn't get inside over the protection enchantments unlike Negura and the Aurors who somehow overcame it. This was bad. Harry gritted his teeth. He couldn't imagine that the situation could become even worse than this until ... he heard a hysterical squeak of utter happiness.

"Damn," Harry groaned as he recognized that voice and caught a glimpse of a nasty pink costume up on the mantelpiece.

"My, My … what do we have here?" Dolores Umbridge chirped from behind some square-shouldered bodyguard, who was probably hired to be her personal shield.

Flicking the Elder Wand in the air, she conjured up a _pink_ staircase and walked it down, still hiding behind the sturdy man.

"This must be my most lucky day," she sang as she scuttled towards the Leader, her flabby face shining with malevolent delight. "Finally I have the proof that Potter is a criminal. Finally caught together with his lot. Yes, yes, YES! Kill them. Kill them now!"

As Harry noticed, she seemed surprisingly confident in Voldemort's presence. Even the Aurors showed more fear and respect than she did. Could it be the Elder Wand's fault? She was after all quite susceptible to be influenced by powerful objects. Voldemort's Horcrux was a clear proof of it. Maybe she already started to believe that possessing that wand made her invincible. Or maybe she considered the Dark Lord helpless because he didn't kill anyone yet. Could she even imagine what would happen to her if he unleashed his true powers on her? Mastering the Elder Wand or not, he would turn her into a cinder in a second. But there was still Negura, who...

"Enough!" she squeaked again. "Enough of your stupid loitering! I said kill them!"

Brandishing the Elder Wand above her head, testing the limits of the Dark Lord's self-control, Umbridge shrieked again at the hesitating Aurors, her big eyes nearly popping up of her eye sockets.

"What is this?-! What are you waiting for?-! Is this some kind of rebellion?-!"

No one moved.

"As you wish! I will show you how it is done!"

Pointing the wand at Lord Voldemort, she screamed in hysterics.

"_Avada..."_

BANG!

Screeching Umbridge was pinned to the wall, tethered by flaming ropes.

BANG!

Six Aurors were rolling on the ground, coughing and choking.

BANG!

Voldemort lashed his wand for the third time and a large snake encircled Negura, attempting to devour him, but the vampire tore it in half, using his wand as if it was a sword.

The inn turned into an inferno.

Harry tried to keep track of who was where, but soon he was simply sending Stunners everywhere and trying to block everything that was coming back, failing from time to time, blood running down his left arm as he failed to deflect one particularly nasty spell presumably directed at Voldemort.

The old building couldn't stand such a siege for long and began to fall apart. A dangerously green light flashed close above him and Harry ducked his head instinctively.

Umbridge. Set free by her personal bodyguard, she was screaming murdering orders again.

"Harry … Harry's there!"

"Luna?-!" Harry yelped, recognizing that voice over the tumult while deflecting another red blast.

Through the hole in the wall he could see her waving at someone behind her and then he noticed that flashes of light outside. Could it be a battle of the Death Eaters against the Order or were they working together, trying to hold off the attack of the vampires?

"HARRY!"

And that was Hermione and Ron rushing inside past Luna. Harry's stomach immediately jumped into his throat in fear as more Killing Curses illuminated the room with nasty green light. Tom could deal with this but Ron and Hermione? He didn't want them to be here. Above all, he didn't want them to be helping him right now.

"No! Stay where you are!" Harry screamed at them, but they refused to listen.

Harry was furious. If being an Auror meant fighting for survival five times a week while worrying for his dearest people all the time, he wasn't sure he really wanted the job.

"_Imperio!"_

Hermione, who was casting a Shield Charm to protect him, suddenly froze and Harry watched with growing horror how her face turned empty as she looked at Negura who gained the control over her.

Turning her head back to Harry, she raised her wand and spit out.

"_Avada Ked..."_

"HERMIONE!" Ron roared, knocking her down to the floor using his body weight. She fought him at first but then she stopped and began to vomit and cry and Harry realized that she was finally freed of that spell because...

Blocking another curse, Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Voldemort's Killing Curse hit Negura straight into his chest.

"NOOO!" Umbridge shrieked on top of her lungs and the Aurors launched their most severe assault yet.

Harry's Shield Charm was broken but he didn't even have time to panic. He turned his head to Voldemort who was no longer behind him, but moving aside in a spinning motion. Their eyes met for a fraction of second, green boring into the red ones, which were impossibly wide, displaying nothing but naked fear.

Fighting against the momentum Voldemort raised his hand, his chin dropping in a silent scream as he was trying to reach him and push him away, but Harry already lost the sight of him in a flash of blinding green light. Something vast and invisible was soaring through the air towards him and then he was hit and everything was gone.

xxxxx

Silence. Deaf, dead, disturbing.

The fight went on outside the pub, but inside the time froze.

_It didn't happen._

He, the great Lord Voldemort was proud that he had never been foolish … and yet he denied the truth presented to him like a fool. Denying it was much better than accepting that his green-eyed angelic beauty, his fate and curse, his pain and happiness, the sole reason of his existence, was lying there on that filthy ground, his head turned backward in an almost unnatural angle, his arms splayed out, his body unmoving … unmoving...

A fierce sob and a loud woman's wail broke the quietness...

"HARRY! NO! HARRY!"

But he didn't believe it. More seconds passed and he still refused to believe it.

_He will get up. Of course that he is not dead. He is Harry Potter._

More cries, more sobs...

"What have we done?-!"

An Auror was crawling to _him_, but he kicked her away, still staring at _him_, still waiting for _him_ to open his eyes and raise _his_ head.

"Harry...," a throaty whisper left his lips.

_Why wasn't he moving when he was alive?_

Surviving two Killing Curses, he certainly survived the third one as well.

He was the luckiest boy … his boy … _his_...

"GET UP!" he screamed, angry, furious, _frightened._

Only Harry didn't listen to him, his body didn't move. He just lay there still … so very still … his mouth slack and open just like his palms.

Something clattered beside him dully. It was his own wand falling from his numb fingers, but he didn't care. It didn't matter.

_He didn't move... What if he … can't … hear me … anymore..._

He sank to the ground, dragging his impossibly heavy body over to his boy.

Someone was screaming, arguing and yelling, but he didn't listen to them. It was Harry who was his reality now.

He wanted to touch his face, but couldn't raise his hand to do it. His beautiful, gorgeous face ... so blank and lifeless … he couldn't touch him anymore, he would touch Death instead … empty, cold and sticky.

_His Harry was … gone._

Searing pain closed his throat, cutting him off from the supply of fresh air.

_Suited him right._

How could he mock Dumbledore like that, laugh at his weakness while he was worse … so much worse... a coward...

The air encased in his lungs slowly turned into boiling acid, choking him, torturing him...

_Searching protection behind my back … but I knew he stood behind me. I knew it and yet I avoided the curse without thinking, condemning my boy to be its victim instead of facing it myself. _

A loud sob escaped his lips.

_According to your philosophy, he was something worse than that..._

_Coward …unworthy of love..._

He will never see his smile again, or feel his warmth, kisses and touches. The miracles shining in his eyes were gone forever...

He was the one holding the wand which ended his life. Celebrating his death, torturing his corpse...

_He did this before..._

_Monster … hideous, despicable..._

The acid was eating him with growing ferocity, spreading through his body, burning everything in its path.

"Harry...!"

The wheezing rattle didn't even resemble his voice. He wanted to beg him for forgiveness but how could he do it when his lungs were dead already? The pain in his chest raged like a Fiendfyre, devouring him, becoming worse and worse, focusing its destructive power right beneath his breastbone.

His heart … it could not possibly contain so much of a torture … it would burst any second … he needed to get it out … he had to tear it out...

His hands were bloody as they clawed flesh from his bony chest … and yet he didn't even feel it... His skin and muscles were in shreds, but so was his soul.

"_Kill me!"_ he shrieked in terror to whoever could hear him. He wished to die … he couldn't exist torn apart like this, feeling the suffering of each of his pieces as they reached for him through a black, fluttering veil...

"_Kill me!"_

Agony. Thousands of white knives piercing him … not his body, but his soul … his very essence.

"_Please!"_

With that one last wail the world stopped existing and changed into a flaming red universe, odd and distorted and he was falling down towards a black gate, welcoming the embrace of Death, cold and clammy, yet comforting, sewing him together, wiping off the pain, bringing relief in its darkness.

_He was whole. _

_**R&R**_

**Author's note: **Please, don't hate me much for such an ending. This is not the last chapter. I like you too much to end it right here. :)

**_*Parseltongue_**


	17. The trial

**Author's note:** Thank you very much for all your lovely reviews. Knowing that most of you were probably eagerly awaiting this update, I worked hard to finish it sooner than usual (which makes this chapter a little shorter than usual as well – I hope you don't mind too much!). Also, for those of you who wonder, this story is indeed in Drama/Romance category (though I like suspense too). :)

Maybe this chapter is not as 'polished' as usual, but it was you you wanted me to update ASAP... :D

Special thanks to my beta: **TheSecretUchiha**

Rating of this chapter: **K+**

xxxxx

**The trial**

xxxxx

_Azkaban_

_2nd January 2001, 2__2__:__15_

xxxxx

At first there was just black nothingness, a seemingly endless, serene void. But somewhere in that infinite, timeless moment a thought occurred.

_Do I still exist?_

And with that notion the consistency of the blackness subtly changed. It no longer encompassed his whole being, blinding all his senses and thoughts. The veil separating him from his previous self thinned and became more transparent, allowing him to see through and remember slowly. As the change progressed, his consciousness took over and began to sort out the crucial memories.

Somewhere along this process of remembering himself, he made a shocking discovery. He was able to detect a distinct heartbeat in his temples. Also, the chilling feeling that was making him shiver was undoubtedly a frosty air fanning his bare skin.

_Am I still alive?_

The acid burning in his insides was gone and he could breathe effortlessly again, feeling a pleasant relief every time the air rushed through his wind pipe. His sharpening senses detected a rough mat under his back, barely protecting his poor body from the chill of the floor. His shivers grew stronger. The room around him was icy cold and he had no idea how long he was lying there though it had to be some time for his feet were frozen solid. When he tried to move them, he found out that all his limbs were shacked in steel manacles. The no longer changing darkness still ensnared his vision, but he could tell now that it was due to a blindfold rather than a loss of sight as he first feared.

All of that could mean only one thing – he was in a prison.

He tried to free his arms in quick tugging motions, but soon he ceased the fruitless attempts and let his hands sink back onto the cold stone. Slowing down his elevated breathing, he tasted the air, feeling rust and putridity on his palate.

There was absolutely nothing he could do, only lay there and wait until someone noticed him. Soon it became extremely difficult to distract himself from the unbearable cold and from the equally intolerable memory of insane pain which was at the edge of his thoughts all the time. If he didn't resist it, it could easily drown out everything else ... everything except that horrendous, crushing memory, which was replaying before his eyes over and over.

_The green eyes boring into mine with a look of an unconcealed surprise, the warm hand reaching for me, nearly touching me and then the blast of venomous green light separated us, making those eyes turn away from me forever. _

The echo of the intolerable pain pricked him again, making his throat clench.

Harry … his boy … his _lover_ … was gone. The only person who understood him, who accepted him with all his flaws because _he loved him_.

Love … a gentle, fragile feeling, yet also a frighteningly powerful emotion compelling people to sacrifice everything in its name, even their lives...

How entirely confusing he found this concept before. Unnatural even. He didn't understand it - understand _anything_. He was so deformed that he even failed to see how much he loved Harry back. He was a blind fool, wondering over and over why he was so happy with him, when the boy was the reason he lost everything. It was beyond his comprehension at that time that it was thanks to Harry that he _gained_ everything.

_He loved him too..._

And he never told him that...

He missed every single chance in his blunt conceit and arrant short-sightedness.

"Harry..." he whispered softly, knowing with a horrifying finality that no one could answer his call.

Not even with a fraction of his soul did he feel so hollow...

And then he heard steps. The quick regular clapping of heels against the stone growing louder and louder until it stopped suddenly.

"Open the door," a muffled woman's voice commanded sweetly. Voldemort's body grew rigid that instant, his loathing momentarily taking over his every other thought. The passionate abhorrence swirled in his chest like a snake preparing to attack.

_Dolores Umbridge. _

He had to force himself to lay still and relaxed when the door creaked open and she stepped inside.

She wasn't alone. He overheard other, differently paced steps, incomparably quieter than hers.

"Let's see if he's awake already," Umbridge spoke in her girlish voice to whoever was her companion.

"_Crucio!"_

The onslaught of pain caught him completely off guard for a moment. His body curled up at first, then arched and began to writhe in uncontrollable spasms. It was only due to previous tremendous suffering that he sustained it without a shriek. However, he knew that the scathing fire and thousands of currents running through his every nerve would eventually break through any resistance he might try to build against it. That was the amazing thing about the Cruciatus Curse - the longer it was held, the more it hurt. No one could get used to that torture which was already destructive, blazing inside him with the power of crazed dragon, making him lose all coherent thoughts, wrenching the first pained cry from his lips.

"That's enough!" snapped a deep, melodic male voice and the curse was lifted almost immediately.

"I think that his consciousness is beyond any dispute now, isn't it … Dolores? That aside, you as the Minister for Magic should think twice before using the Unforgivables. Especially, if you want to keep your position for a little longer."

The sound of that well-known voice made all his twitching muscles freeze.

Though Voldemort couldn't say he was surprised that Negura to come to finish him, his breath still ran short as a deep, instinctual dread washed over him. He knew how badly the vampire desired his blood. He could almost smell the power of his craving in the air.

Why did he have to wake up? Was this his punishment for his awful deeds – to be exposed to his greatest fears over and over?

He gritted his teeth, sucking the air in with quick, clipped gasps.

"I'm afraid I must disagree with you," Umbridge disrupted his thoughts with a distinct superiority in her voice. "A criminal like him deserves this treatment."

Negura didn't argue about that.

"I will resign tomorrow after the trial," he said instead. "My job here is done."

That statement made Voldemort clenched his teeth even tighter.

Tomorrow after the trial - _his trial presumably_ - Negura will start erasing the memory of his existence together with the barely surviving wizarding population in Britain. What Salazar Slytherin cared the most about - the blood purity and prosperity of the wizarding world - will perish with his last descendant. The knowledge that he failed everyone in the end, even himself, ignited his smoldering rage and helped him suppress the worst terror of what was to come.

"As you wish," Umbridge shrugged, sounding extremely pleased that there will be no one else to bask in her visionary glory.

Voldemort's lips twitched for a second. She was so _deliciously_ unaware of the fact that she will be among the first to die. Pity that he won't see Negura whispering to her, 'Sorry, Dolores, I just always wanted to kill you.'

The heels clapped leisurely several times and then the soles creaked somewhere close beside his head.

She probably considered whether she was courageous enough to speak to him directly. It pleased him greatly that she decided against it even though he lay naked and handcuffed before her. Her fear of him was still there, eating her inside...

"Inform him about his upcoming execution," she addressed Negura again. "Make it brief, I'm sure he already knows what awaits him. When you're finished, come into my office. I must make a public announcement."

She made several steps towards the door where she halted again.

"If he says anything – names or places, be sure to tell me about it."

And then she was gone, leaving him alone with the vampire like a pig for a slaughter.

Negura probably viewed it in a similar way, his leer was almost palpable.

Voldemort gulped slowly, his sticky saliva making even this basic reflex extremely strenuous. He was helpless against his dread, far from being prepared for this moment and yet there was something unmistakably different about his feelings. He could coexist with his fear. He couldn't control it, but he also wasn't _controlled by it_. It was as if that all-encompassing serenity from before remained a part of him, giving him a new inner strength which he didn't have before.

Still, he shivered and nausea rose up from his stomach as the monster knelt beside him and touched his face with care.

No fierce attack followed that deceptive gesture of affection. Instead, his frozen body was covered with a blanket and his blindfold was removed.

"Better?" the freak asked with a perfectly feigned expression of innocence.

Voldemort didn't look at him. He resisted the temptation to see through that deceit. He turned his eyes to the ceiling instead, refusing to play along.

"I saved your life, Voldemort."

There went his decision to ignore him. He regretted that slip immediately for he could say that his brief, surprised glance pleased the freak.

"It's true. I saved you. If I didn't intervene, you would be dead already. Killed by your own remorse. Quite a pitiful end for such a great dark lord, isn't it? Luckily for you, I know something about the soul magic and I could provide you the necessary help."

Voldemort remained unresponsive. Both Harry and even that old fool Dumbledore were right when they proclaimed that there were worse things than death. He could see now that being turned into Negura's eternal slave was definitely one of them.

It was nearly as bad as his continuing existence _without_ Harry...

He visibly winced at the thought.

"I know that Potter saved your life a couple of times. That's why you fell for him so foolishly, didn't you?" Negura continued softly, unperturbed by the lack of his response. "So, tell me, now that I saved you too, will you love me back as well?"

A stab in his heart wouldn't hurt him so much. He was mocking him. Negura was digging into his still bleeding wound with pleasure, enjoying the suffering it caused. His whole body jerked twice as much at the nearly physical pain he felt. Hatred like an icy venom gathered behind his lips and he just wanted to spew it on him and drown him in it.

"Forget that dead boy, Voldemort. It was your choice after all – _you_ let him die, so _you'd_ better move on. You still want to live forever, don't you? I'm here to offer you this remarkable chance. You don't have die tomorrow after the trial. You don't have to follow Potter's fate."

Negura leaned over him, his icy eyes boring into his. They were so unlike Harry's, he couldn't stand watching them … he couldn't stand the words he was saying...

"Forget him and rather look into the future where you rule the world with me. I'll make you happy – I'm sure I can do it. Just say yes and I'll take care of everything else. I'll preserve your magic … faking your death won't be a problem once you've joined me. You'll be free tomorrow - you will have everything you've ever wanted..."

Voldemort felt that his hatred ultimately reached the level when it started to suffocate him. His whole body began to shake with a pent-up rage.

"I know that you want to accept me. No need to hesitate... Deep inside you know that you aren't going to throw everything away for _Potter_ who only meant to defeat you. _You don't want to die for real, Voldemort_..."

His fury exploded. His saliva hit the Leader's perfectly shaved cheek, leaving a wet trail as it slid down to his jaw.

It was the worst insult of all. Pure-blood wizards never spat into each other's face, for they deemed this a disgusting Muggle habit which was, in their opinion, so low that it was unworthy of use, even in the case of the deepest contempt. But the shocked expression on Negura's face was definitely worth any disgrace on his part.

"Harry was … my everything, _you bloodsucking freak_!" he hissed icily, choking on his words. "Now kill me so I can destroy you! And you can bet that I'll eventually find your sole weakness! Just give me a chance to crush you and I _swear on my death_ that I will!"

A furious scream escaped the vampire's lips. His skin began to lose its healthy colour, turning pale and slightly greenish, his fangs prolonged as he no longer controlled the magic which masked his inhuman essence.

"I was immensely patient!" he howled, his claws scratching his face. "I was nice... I saved you … helped you ... I even had a gift for you... And this is how you repaid me! _Insults and hatred!_ This is what I get for my _hopes_ … this is my reward for thinking that you were merely too proud to admit that you … maybe … wanted to be … with me..."

Negura bent his head down as if in defeat, but the shaking in his shoulders already began to cease. When he raised his chin again, his fury was replaced by cold resignation.

"But that was a lie just like everything else. It was a lie from the beginning. My mistake that I considered you my equal … my future companion. My mistake that after three hundred and fifty years I just wanted to have someone by my side _for real_... I should have realized sooner that you're no good for me..."

As the emotions were drained from his face, Negura's voice grew ice cold.

"Have it your way then. I can be cruel too, Voldemort, inhuman beyond _your_ imagination. It's time to taste your own medicine. You will meet your end tomorrow … and I _promise you_ that you will shed your tears when the time comes!"

He left him without another word and took away the blanket.

The chill enveloped and penetrated his body again, but Voldemort remained strangely ignorant to it.

Negura was wrong. He couldn't hurt him anymore.

xxxxx

_Hogsmeade_

_2nd January 2001, 1__8__:__35_

xxxxx

"Come with me."

The voice seemed to come to him from a long distance, echoing inside his skull a couple of times before Ron was able to react to it. He shook his head and realized that he still stood frozen on the spot, holding sobbing Hermione in his arms. His throat was dry and face was drenched in tears. He wiped them into his sleeve and gently steered Hermione out of his arms so they could follow the strictly looking Auror whose name Ron didn't remember.

They joined the others who sat huddled together on the long bench beside a cracked wall, taking a seat beside Luna and Hannah.

"I wonder if they'll send us to jail," Lee, who was seated further to the right, muttered for himself. "Just look at Kingsley and McGonagall. Look how they are arguing with the Aurors. Soon they'll pull out their wands again."

Ron glanced briefly at the Headmistress and then he turned his eyes aside, watching as two wizards were leading a shackled Dolohov away, while the vampires still prowled freely around the inn.

"Why this feels so wrong?" he strained through his gritted teeth and wiped another tear which slipped from the corner of his eye. "I'm sure that if Harry was here, he would...," his throat closed as Hermione let out another fierce sob. He hugged her closer and kissed her hair gently. That was all he could do for her. He himself didn't know how to deal with the loss of his best friend.

"I wish I could...," he began and shook his head as his voice betrayed him again.

When he opened his eyes some time later, he realized that Luna was watching him curiously. Honestly, he felt miserable enough even without her loony stare.

He turned to her ready to snap at her but she already spoke to him in her dreamy, slightly confused voice.

"Why are you crying?"

"Why – why am I crying?-!" Ron spluttered out in outraged shock. "What, haven't you noticed what happened? Or don't you care at all? It doesn't matter to you that Harry – that Harry is d- dead?"

A brief surprise spilled over her face and she quickly looked around the faces which turned to see what made Ron that upset.

"But Harry isn't dead," she said with stunning certainty and Ron nearly doubled over. As he straightened himself again, he noticed that he wasn't the only one.

Luna, undisturbed by their reaction, watched something interesting on the ceiling. Exchanging confused glances with Lee, Ron shrugged his shoulders. He always knew that Lovegood had too many bats in the belfry.

"Luna, seriously, this isn't right time for your nonsense," Lee shook his head in a dismissive gesture.

"I do not speak nonsense!" Luna snapped in an offended manner and turned her large eyes away from the ceiling to Kingsley who was talking to Neville.

"Why...," Hermione sniffed in Ron's embrace, "Why do you think that he's not dead?" she asked her weakly.

Blinking a couple of times, the blonde young woman turned to her and Ron subconsciously tightened his embrace around his girlfriend's shaking shoulders.

"You don't know?" she asked, once again mildly surprised. "You didn't see what happened?"

Ron's patience started to run short at that. He wanted some answers and he wanted them now.

"And what exactly happened _according to you_ Luna? Because the rest of us saw Harry being hit by a Killing Curse!"

To his surprise she nodded and slowly stood up. After a short hesitation she spoke dreamily again.

"Ah, yes... follow me. I'll show you."

At first no one moved but she didn't wait for them and headed directly to the place where Harry fell. When Hermione extricated herself from his embrace Ron grudgingly got up as well and after him everyone who sat on the bench.

"Here," Luna whispered and knelt on a dirty floor covered by wreckage. She seized a heavy golden pendant and raised it up so everyone could see its cracked, blackened surface covered with blood.

"Harry wasn't hit by the Killing Curse," she repeated with unshakable certainty and placed the locket into Hermione's trembling hand.

"You-Know-Who wore this around his neck. I saw how the curse hit this instead."

Astounded silence spread around them for a moment.

"But … but … but this is the Slytherin's locket … how in the hell could You-Know-Who get it back … and … and more importantly we've seen Harry _fall_!" Ron stuttered out incoherently. "He … _he didn't move_!"

"His Shield Charm was broken," Hermione choked out, covering her mouth with her palm. "He was hit by five Stunners at the same moment. Of course that he … wouldn't move."

"W... w... WAIT!" Lee gasped. "Does it mean that Harry could be _hypothetically_..."

"That's why he took him, didn't he?" Hermione interrupted him swiftly, getting her spirits back with incredible speed. "Negura. That's why he took him to the Ministry without discussing his decision with anyone. He knew that Harry was alive! As a vampire he could hear Harry's heartbeat!"

"Ron!" she turned to him, his eyes alight with hope. "If he lives … if there is any chance, then we MUST get there! We must save him!"

"Bloody hell … do you really think that... Good Merlin...," he stuttered before turning to Luna again.

"Why didn't you tell us about this before?-!" he lashed out at her.

The large, unblinking eyes didn't appear to be distressed by his emotional effusion.

"You didn't ask," she replied softly.

Another moment of overwhelmed silence followed and prolonged until Professor McGonagall disrupted it with her strict voice.

"What is going on here?-!"

"Professor!" Hermione yelped quickly. "We have a significant reason to believe that Harry is _not_ dead!"

The commotion in the inn stopped that instant.

Even the Aurors who were taking the captured Death Eaters to Azkaban halted to listen.

"What do you mean by that?" Kingsley's deep voice boomed through the silence.

"Harry's alive?-! Wow! That's totally awesome!" Neville called out enthusiastically. "And … how do you know?"

"Luna says so," Hermione said resolutely.

The skepticism prevailed immediately. Aurors smiled bitterly as they exchanged quick glances among themselves, telling each other wordlessly what they thought of her proclamation.

"And we have a proof," she added in a stronger voice and raised the pendant high above her head.

"Can you tell if this object was hit by a Killing Curse? Because if it was, then Harry must have been spared of it!"

"Probably," Kingsley admitted after a brief moment. "You're certainly made a good point. Harry should have been examined right away, but since You-Know-Who … well, since Voldemort had that_seizure_ right afterwards, somehow … no one could go and check him."

"So?" Hermione implored.

"So what?" the tall, blonde Auror who took them aside before retorted strictly. "If Potter is alive, then he is safe at the Ministry..."

"What?-!" Ron sputtered out, his distress escaping all its boundaries. "Safe … at the Ministry? You cannot mean that! And if you by any chance really think so then let me tell you one thing about that place! If _You-Know-Who _didn't save me and Hermione during that yesterday's upheaval, we would be dead. _Dead_, do you understand it? How can you say that Harry is safe there – that anyone is safe there! People die there all the time and you don't bother to do anything about it because Umbridge says that it's okay! What kind of Aurors are you that you leave the ordinary people to be saved by the _dark lords_!"

Ron glanced over the dozens of faces which were watching him in silence.

"And don't you dare to tell me that any of this is nonsense. I'm sure you know what's going on there but you prefer to pretend otherwise. It's a lot easier than losing your job, going to jail or even dying, isn't it? Are you honestly proud of yourselves? Or do you really believe to what Negura said after he woke up here – that You-Know-Who doesn't know how to cast Killing Curses anymore or else Potter wouldn't have survived it twice? Hah … _come on_! How could you not laugh at that when you heard it?-! You-Know-Who killed hundreds of people! The reason Negura didn't die is because he's a bloody vampire! He's the one who's responsible for the current deplorable situation in our world! And he's just about to kill Harry, the one who discovered his secret and tried to save us all! Are we just going to sit back and let it happen?-!"

When he finished, everyone seemed to be breathless. He felt many intent stares on him but he could only see how absolutely adorable Hermione looked with her cheeks coloured with delight.

And then Neville came to stand beside him and put his arm around his shoulders.

"Nice speech, Ron. Harry wouldn't say it better. Let's go kick that Negura's ass now."

"I hate to spoil your moment, boys," came a calm woman's voice from the small group of Aurors standing aside. "But vampires cannot do magic like we do which is a proof that the Leader _isn't _a vampire. I'm afraid that..."

"They can do magic," Hermione butted in resolutely. "In case they have a Horcrux which tethers their soul to life."

"Vampire with a Horcrux? Are you making fun of us?" another man sneered.

"Just because we've never heard of it, it doesn't mean that it's impossible," Kingsley's deep voice resounded in the room.

"And you want us to believe it … just like that?" the woman asked once again.

"No, you can always go back into pretending that everything's all right. That you don't see how people are dying around you," Hermione answered icily, making her shuffle the feet. "That you didn't notice that in past fortnight Negura killed as many people as Voldemort during forty years of his terror!"

The silence spread for a long moment and since no one was leaving they could probably take it as an answer.

Kingsley turned back to Ron, Neville and Hermione.

"Voldemort managed to break into the Ministry using an army of Inferi. We don't have anything like that. The vampires outnumbers us many times."

"And what about them," Ron moved his head in the direction of captured Death Eaters. "I bet they'll try to save their master with the same resolve as we'll try to help Harry. As long as we have the same goal which is to break inside..."

The reaction of the Aurors was just as expected. Some of them laughed in disbelief, then there were exclamations of 'Have you lost your mind?' while the rest of them merely shook their heads in discouragement.

"And what if I want to help?-!"

A young Death Eater moved forward, regardless of his chained legs.

"Malfoy?" Ron gasped in surprise.

"Everything that they said is a truth," Draco said aloud, licking his lips nervously. "I want to fight. No one has a greater reason to hate Negura than I have. I've seen myself how he murdered my father. I can swear it under Veritaserum if necessary. If we don't do anything right now, we all die!"

"Wow … he sounds so sincere," Neville whistled, shaking his head in surprise, while Ron and Hermione exchanged meaningful looks. "Do we really have such unexpected new allies? Who would have thought? Still, I think it could be great! Let's start making some plans shall we?"

And all three of them looked at the Aurors and older members of the Order who had already began to discuss that. However, Ron knew that it won't be that easy.

xxxxx

_Azkaban_

_3rd__ January 2001, __06__:__12_

xxxxx

They came for him early in the morning, dressed him in a simple, grey vesture and put the blindfold back over his eyes. Not a single word was said to him, not even when they shackled his arms firmly behind his back and locked a pair of heavy manacles around his ankles. His iron-bound feet shortened his step to a mere quarter of its usual length, making him almost fall as they forced him to move. Though he ultimately regained his balance, the feeling of disconnection with his own body remained. They treated him as if he were just a vapid dummy and he eventually began to feel like one.

It was as if none of that was really happening to him. As if this was just a nightmare and he was waiting to awake. As if he just possessed someone else and watched the events through his victim's eyes.

They made him walk out of his cell and led him down into Azkaban's dungeons. Once there, four Aurors made him step inside a large fireplace. He could say so for he felt harsh cinders scratched the thin skin on his bare feet. Then the green flames enveloped him and send him to the Ministry's remand prison.

_Green flames … panic_ … he was feeling genuinely sick...

Fortunately, the transfer was quick, it took just a second or two and then the guards were already handing him over to the new squad which was taking him into another cell where he was left to wait under constant supervision.

He was forced to stand by some wall for a good half an hour, forbidden to sit, to move. They got him nothing to eat or drink – no one cared that he actually may have some needs. Nevertheless, their complete detachment didn't mean that they didn't pay him attention. He could feel their cold glares, sense their vindictive desires … bare eagerness to hurt him tremendously...

_Harry..._

How he wished his boy could be here with him, even if he couldn't save him. Just his warm presence would be enough to make all of this a lot easier...

But it was his fault that he wasn't here anymore...

He licked his dry lips quickly, chasing away thoughts of his guilt. It wasn't the right time to wallow in self-pity. His dignity was the only thing they couldn't take away from him. That's why he didn't complain and rather suffered his parched mouth and nauseous stomach, taking it as a bonus, reminding him that he was still alive.

Whether it was fortunate or not, a couple of minutes later three new guards appeared and announced that it was time. It could only mean that they were about to escort him to the courtroom. But no one told him that, no one spoke to him aside sharp commands ordering him to walk or to stop. As if he could disobey them since they placed strong bands on his legs.

With his snail pace the journey seemed endless and yet the longer he walked the more he was terrified to reach its end. The feeling of disconnection with himself was fading away with every step which brought him closer to his ultimate demise.

So in the moment when they ordered him to halt, his heart was already racing madly in his chest.

There it was.

He was about to enter the courtroom, his final destination. His fear peaked, making him gasp for breath in an instinctive need to fill his lungs while he still could. His fingers began to shake and he had to curl them into fists to mask the tremor.

Someone removed the blindfold from his eyes and he took another quick gulp of a cold air at the sight of a massive, grimy dark door right before him.

It cost him an enormous amount of self-control not to start panicking right now.

He had to remind himself that he chose this fate. That it was many times better than being Negura's servant forever. Yet, none of these thoughts made him feel any better. He wished he wasn't afraid so much, especially since he knew he _must not_ show his terror _no matter what_.

Taking another slightly stuttering breath he watched the large door slowly open.

The light hit his face squarely and he was momentarily blinded by it. Still, he could discern hundreds of shadowy figures sitting on high benches which rose on either side of the room up to the distant ceiling.

He was forced to enter, surrounded by a stiff silence. The only little noise he heard were the sounds of wizards and witches rising themselves from their seats to have a better look at him, the two quills scratching against the parchment in a frantic speed and the sound of the shackles shifting between his ankles.

He kept his face blank, hiding everything behind the mask of indifference. His eyesight cleared enough that he could start to recognize the faces, but he decided against it. What did it matter to him who attended his court? Everyone present here would die today, only they were lucky that they didn't know it beforehand.

He felt a new prod of magic which forced his feet to move again. As he walked further inside, it didn't go unnoticed by him that this courtroom looked different than those which he had seen in minds of his formerly imprisoned followers. The benches formed a semicircle with a front chair for the Minister in the middle. On the opposite side stood a two foot high stone pedestal above which long, heavy and rusty chains were loosely dangling from a sharply declining ceiling.

The wall behind that pedestal was blackened from numerous Killing Curses which hit its surface during past centuries.

His heart skipped a beat.

So this was the _closed _courtroom number 13.

The last execution took place here one hundred and six years ago.

The realization of this was almost his undoing.

_I am __going to die._

He knew it, of course, but this... He couldn't let them tie him there! He couldn't just accept the fact … he had to resist...

But all he outwardly showed was just a little falter in his step.

It dawned on him that if he resisted, they would force him. If he began to fight back, they would kill him one way or the other.

He couldn't get out of here alive. It was over. He would only humiliate himself in eyes of those who still feared him.

And so he let them lead him up on the pedestal and allowed the chains to capture his hands and lock them in place without any resistance. He closed his eyes, keeping his face blank and lifeless.

He only hoped that it will be over soon, before he lost his nerves.

After a momentary silence, Umbridge began her boasting speech. As she talked and talked about his numerous crimes and her monumental victory, he imagined her body swelling to the point that she exploded and covered all her associate justice with her repulsive body liquids. This image kept him distracted him for some time until he needed some new stimulation. He opened his eyes a tiny bit, looking for something else to pay attention to.

The discovery that Negura stood right beside her, somber and indifferent, wasn't the kind of distraction he was looking for.

He closed his eyes quickly, trying to focus on whatever sounds he could hear beside Umbridge's unbearably irksome, girlish squeak.

Someone coughed in the third row to the right and Rita Skeeter broke her third Quick-Quotes Quill. But this wasn't enough to keep his attention. His stress was taking over. When Umbridge began to read the list of his victims he had to bite his lip to hold himself from ridiculing this ultimate charade. This was so senseless and absurd. Why did she bother with that since everyone just came here to watch him die?

He honestly couldn't stand this any longer, his fear and contempt was just too overwhelming.

And so he began to think of Harry again. He visualized him before his eyes and imagined himself telling him all the things he couldn't even think of before.

And it worked. He felt the serenity return to him slowly. Whenever he was thinking of him, somehow he wasn't afraid so much anymore.

Names followed names, some were familiar, the others he heard for the first time and there were even cases when he was certain that he wasn't the killer. Not that it mattered anyway. In the end he was curious only about one thing.

He wanted to know if Umbridge wanted pass the blame for Harry's death on him, even though it was she who sent that curse.

He accepted his part of the guilt, but he was almost certain that she refused to do the same and that Harry's name will be at the end of that list.

Time passed on slowly, making him wonder whether he wanted it to go even slower or much faster. Several people made their utterly meaningless speeches as well before Umbridge finally reached Dawlish's name – the first murder which made him doubt his deeds. His stiffened body began to feel the effects of the stress once again as his heart began to move his blood in his veins with growing speed.

"...Ronald Bilius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger," Umbridge finished and raised her head from the papers.

_Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger?_

These two names were so entirely unexpected that his surprise nearly leaked into his face. Harry's friends were dead as well? Did Negura kill them and now he wanted to erase the evidence? He couldn't quickly think of another explanation.

But why should he protest? It would hardly change a thing. If anything, he would look ridiculous if he tried to deny responsibility for death of these two.

"Does the accused have anything to say before this court pronounces its verdict?"

It was for the first time and probably the last time when Umbridge addressed him directly. He could see that she would prefer if she didn't have to do it at all, but the law clearly requested it. It also meant that the trial was practically over. She was - on the contrary to his previous thoughts - trying to make it as quick as possible.

He didn't said anything. He knew that he was supposed to express his regret and though he regretted many things, he didn't feel like sharing any of that with Dolores Umbridge and Dragomir Negura.

"Nothing as expected," she sneered at him and both Skeeter and the court scribe made a quick note.

"Since the Wizengamot already made a consentaneous decision about this matter, it is my pleasu– _duty_ to inform the accused that he was found guilty of all charges," she said sweetly. "Due to the severity of the judged crimes the Wizengamot decided to impose the maximal penalty which is a capital punishment, effective immediately. The court is closed."

Voldemort looked down at his feet. His heart stopped swelling in his chest and now it was thumping loudly under his ribs, making his whole ribcage vibrate. How many times before the last beat comes? Had Harry thought the same thoughts when he came to meet him in the Forbidden Forest? Did all of his victims feel the same? If yes, he wished to have an ounce of their bravery. He had to stay strong … but it was so hard...

"In the view of recent circumstances, the consent of the executor was noted to be unambiguous. Please, step forward," Negura said in a completely disinterested tone and Voldemort slowly raised his head to see the face of the person who was chosen to end his life.

It was a slim man of an average height, he noticed dully as he watched him stand up from the first row by Negura's right hand. He was a young one too from the way he held his body upright. His face was still shrouded in shadows as he passed Negura who whispered something into his ear and yet Voldemort immediately noticed that there was something frighteningly familiar about his form.

The way he walked...

The way his fingers clasped around the wand...

The way the reflected light scattered on his spectacles...

_No..._

The way his well-defined lips tightened as something displeased him...

_NO!_

The way his eyebrows furrowed in irritation...

The way his untidy black hair stuck up in every direction...

_No! It was impossible! Impossible! This had to be some trick … __Negura made __someone __drink __a Polyjuice Potion just to make __me __suffer!_

The way he bit his lip and scratched his forehead when something confused him...

The way his bright green eyes looked into the depth of his fragmented soul – which wasn't fragmented anymore...

Impossible or not, this was without a doubt Harry Potter – The-Boy-Who-Lived and The-Boy-Who-He-Loved. He stood there a dozen of feet from the pedestal, _wonderfully alive_, the wand pointing upward at his chest, his beautiful eyes watching him with detestation.

Voldemort's knees couldn't hold his weight anymore and they gave out, making him sink down and hang in the chains like a rag doll. Somewhere among his pure horror and numb disbelief he realized how tremendously he underestimated the power of Negura's spite. The vampire was entirely correct when he said that he couldn't even imagine the depth of his cruelty.

He was in shock and he couldn't hide it...

Harry was _alive_ which meant...

It was entirely obvious now that the freak changed Harry's memories in order to use him as a tool for his punishment. And yet he found out he didn't care about the fact that Harry was preparing himself to kill him. It was his boy's miraculously continuing existence which he wanted to protect now. Harry surely didn't know that he was deemed to die the moment he accomplished what was expected of him.

Their eyes met again and he tried to suppress that insane joy erupting inside him for it was a misguided feeling which couldn't last long. Instead, he tried to wordlessly convey the crucial message.

Everything what mattered to him depended on whether he succeeded or failed now. Fighting against magical restrictions placed upon him, he formed the words which he attempted to smuggle into the young man's thoughts.

_Harry … I love you. Y__ou're in danger! __RUN!_

The green eyes, which were boring into his, narrowed in suspicion at first and then slowly, very slowly dilated in blank astonishment.

**_R&R_**


	18. The Power in Memories

**Author's note:** FINALLY! I'm terribly late, forgive me. Especially since I have the best readers (and reviewers) on this entire site. Seriously. Thank you all from the depth of my heart for your unceasing support.

I'm really sorry for making you wait so long, but it was impossible for me to update any sooner (for dozens of reasons I don't want to bother you with). Thank you for your patience and understanding. :)

Big and special thanks to my dear beta: **TheSecretUchiha**

Rating of this chapter: **T **

xxxxx**  
**

**The Power in Memories**

xxxxx

_Courtroom __no.13,_

_Ministry__ of__ Magic, __London_

_3rd January 2001, 07:53  
_

xxxxx

Harry heavily slumped down upon a poorly fashioned bench and pinched the bridge of his nose to stifle the unceasing pain behind his eyes. He felt so sick of everything for a moment that he almost considered leaving this awful place, after assigning the equally awful task to someone else.

Getting revenge couldn't bring the dead back to life. It was beyond anyone's power to revive them, his dearest people, his friends and family, who lost their lives to Lord Voldemort.

However, he made a promise that he will go through this, that he will be the one to deliver justice upon that wicked murderer. He may have failed to save his beloved, but he would at least make sure that they were Riddle's last victims and that they didn't sacrifice their lives in vain.

His fingers tightened their hold on Malfoy's old wand, which felt heavy and cold in his hand.

_Almost__ like __a __gun._

In a way, it was sad to see how naïve he used to be. When he was just a boy and Dumbledore told him about the prophecy, he found it hard to believe that his life must include, or end in, murder. Now he knew that there was never any other option. He had to fulfil the prophecy to find some peace at last.

_Neither __can __live __while __the __other __survives__…_

He finally began to understand what exactly Trelawney meant by those words. Since he felt like the best part of him died together with Ron and Hermione, his current meaningless existence was hardly worth continuing. Maybe that was how a victim of the Dementor's kiss felt, with the only difference being that he was still aware of himself . He could hardly call it a bonus.

Recalling Ron's and Hermione's empty faces and the way their bodies lay numb at the base of the Fountain of Magical Brethren, his whole body curled in agony. He remembered Voldemort laughing maniacally at his crazed wails and yet the Cruciatus curse which hit him a moment later was nothing compared to torture which was taking place inside his soul.

Voldemort indeed made a crucial mistake when he didn't kill him immediately – or at least before the Aurors captured him. Though Harry didn't know how exactly they managed to do that - to catch such a powerful wizard - it hardly mattered to him.

Riddle would die today and then everything would be over.

The movement and quiet mutters around him slowly ceased as all wizards and witches gradually took their allotted places. The trial was about to begin. Few moments later, the Minister for Magic – Dolores Umbridge in her nasty pink suit – passed him quickly, accompanied by her tall, impassive advisor who wore a long, dark cloak. Harry recalled seeing him shortly back at the St. Mungo's, where the man gave him some basic information about the situation. Harry didn't even know his name.

Anyway, regardless of being told that Kingsley was no longer the Minister for Magic, he couldn't simply accept that it was _Umbridge_ who replaced him. She was supposed to sit in her Azkaban cell for her crimes instead of ruling the wizarding world! Her liberty was just as suspicious as her current post. If things were different, Harry would surely try to find out more about this development, but as it was, he couldn't bring himself to care anymore…

The quiet sound of a gong broke into his thoughts and in reaction to that his fingers clenched harder around Malfoy's old hawthorn wand.

"Bring in the accused," Umbridge sang in her overly sweet, girlish voice, appearing to be happier than Harry had ever seen her.

After that announcement nearly everyone began to fidget on their seats. Even Harry felt a nervous thrill running down his spine. He didn't know what he would do when he saw him again. Would he be able to sustain his hatred and hold himself in the seat or would he jump up and kill him on the spot?

Harry looked down at his sweating palms, considering the limits of his resolve and self-control.

And then a powerful, magical light illuminated the path from the door to the pedestal where the execution was planned to take place later, and the next moment Lord Voldemort stepped inside the courtroom, surrounded by a large squad of Aurors.

The heavy silence, which fell over the room, was only interrupted by nervous shifting on the benches and by Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill which was making dry, scratching noises against the parchment.

Raising his head a little, Harry tightened his hold on the seat just in case he needed to keep himself down.

At first, it was difficult to get a view of Riddle, but as the squad moved forward, the Dark Lord finally entered Harry's field of vision.

The first thing Harry noticed about him was his nearly impossible gauntness. He could easily count all his ribs over the simple, grey, prisoner's robes which were hugging his trunk tightly. Still, the man towered above everyone else, his height and pearly white skin naturally drawing everyone's attention.

At that moment Harry relaxed a little for he knew that he wouldn't attack him before the time comes. Regarding his face closely, Harry was taken by surprise to see his evenness and indifference. As if Riddle didn't care about being led to the scaffold. Harry quickly assumed that it was probably just a mask he was wearing to cover his dread. Searching for some further signs to confirm his suspicion, he continued to observe him intently.

It was just a few moments later, when Harry began to realize that instead of watching Voldemort in order to keep his pretence in check, he was gazing at him for he simply couldn't tear his eyes off him. Just the way he moved was striking. No one should appear this classy and graceful in such a degrading position with their legs chained together and their wrists handcuffed behind their back. It was a pity that he couldn't be among the guarding squad for he would get much better view of…

Oh, damn!

_DAMN!_

Shocked, disgusted and disturbed to no extent, Harry covered his face with his hands and bit into his palms fiercely.

"Have I just...," he gasped breathlessly. "He killed Ron and Hermione and I just..."

The slight warmth which was pooling between his legs only served to increase his tremendous mortification.

His dismay reached its climax, making him fist his hair in desperation. Why did the worst, most horrible and impossible things always happen to him? Where was his hatred, abhorrence and detestation when he needed them the most? What was happening to him and why?-! How could his body betray him like that?

He quickly glanced at Voldemort to confirm that he wasn't imagining things and barely held back a yelp as his member twitched in appreciation.

"I'm a freak...," he whispered to himself, utterly horrified. "I'm a _sick_, hideous freak."

Harry turned his eyes to the tips of his shoes, afraid more than ever to look at his archenemy.

He felt absolutely lost. He still despised Riddle with fervour, he wanted to avenge his dearest as soon as possible and yet … there was something disturbingly off with Voldemort. His _aura_ - or whatever – it had changed dramatically since their last encounter. Yet, none of that should affect him the way it did. Could it be some magic perhaps? Was Voldemort trying to influence him in so he wouldn't be able to kill him? But how could he do something like that without him knowing anything about it? Even if Riddle could somehow cast a wordless and _wandless_ Imperius Curse, Harry knew for sure that he would be able to detect it and resist it.

Sometime during his contemplation, Harry realized that he was studying him again.

He just couldn't stop watching the way Voldemort's lithe muscles strained against the chains, the way his whole body moved as he breathed hard, the way his mouth twitched every now and then, the way he held his head high, refusing to show his defeat, the way his delicate skin glistened in the sharp light...

Groaning quietly, Harry went back to biting his hand. The witch who sat next to him patted his shoulder in compassion and Harry didn't even dare to look at her in case what he felt was written in his face.

He was just a step from screaming out in frustration. Why couldn't he die with his friends, or better, when he was still an innocent child? Could his irregular, or, more accurately, practically non-existent sexual life affect him to this extend? Fuming quietly for himself, Harry began to wonder how long he had been interested in men. As far as he remembered, he never even considered them an option.

This was really bad, for he was even more than just interested. His heart kept pounding against his ribcage and he was sweating all over regardless of the chill in the room. But why did it have to be because of Voldemort? That serpentine dictator was hardly a man, and even if he was, Harry knew for sure that his face shouldn't appeal to him this much, especially since everyone else looked away with disgust.

Minutes flew by and though Harry tried his best, nothing seemed to diminish the affliction in his pants. Umbridge continued to read the seemingly endless list of names, unaware of his ceaseless squirming. The only one who took occasional glances at him was her silent advisor. In one moment their eyes met and Harry found the piercing stare of his deep, navy eyes nearly as unpleasant as Voldemort's hateful, fiery glare. It took all his willpower to withstand it until the man looked away.

Still, that eye contact provided Harry the desired distraction and he clung to it as much as he could. He could tell that there was something wicked about that guy. If Ron and Hermione were here, they would surely give him their opinion and he would know better what to think about him.

Only he could never ask them again.

_Because __Voldemort __killed __them._

If someone thrust a blade between his ribs, it wouldn't hurt as much as knowing they were gone did.

He finally understood that he should stop indulging in his queer fantasies and rather listen to reason. No one had to know about his momentary insanity. In the name of all Voldemort's victims and in the name of those who survived, but suffered the loss of their beloved ones, he couldn't afford to let himself fail.

"...Ronald Billius Weasley and Hermione Jane Granger," Umbridge finished reciting from the last piece of parchment and raised her head.

Harry didn't feel like staring at the Dark Lord when she said their names. His anger was back, coiling and swelling inside him and he knew he had to collect himself quickly as the trial was nearly over.

Umbridge stopped talking then and her advisor turned to him and asked him to step forward.

Harry closed his burning eyes, wishing to be alone for a few moments. He needed to look calm before he stepped before Voldemort for one last time.

But under the pressure of so many impatient stares, he reluctantly raised his heavy body from the bench, feeling his sore muscles protest as he straightened his back. The advisor's navy glare pierced him again, as if the man was trying to scan his thoughts. It was a sickening feeling.

Harry broke the eye contact with him and took a few steps forward, but the man stopped him by squeezing his shoulder. Harry barely held back a yelp as he felt a powerful twinge in a scar he wasn't aware he had there.

"Don't look into his eyes," the man told him in a whisper and then let go of him with a wry smile on his lips.

Harry didn't respond to that. His instincts were telling him that he shouldn't be listening to his advice, for the man wanted to hurt him. Standing so close, Harry could feel the hostile vibes emanating from him. But he wasn't able to discern the reason behind them for a new pair of eyes fixed their stare upon him, distracting him completely. Harry raised his head and his secret expectation was instantly confirmed. It was Voldemort who was watching him with the weirdest expression Harry had ever seen on his face. It mostly reflected his fear and panic, but other than that Harry could see a surprisingly diverse mixture of emotions which lay close beneath the surface. Curiously enough, only in half of them made any sense.

The fact that Riddle still possessed so many human qualities was annoying as much as the fact that he was affected by them.

Harry disliked seeing him distressed like this, watching the pure horror in his face and knowing that he was the source of it. It made him feel like he was a monster…

_No._ He had to stop thinking these thoughts. It was Voldemort who was the beast here. He was merely trying appeal to his compassion in order to be spared.

Harry took few more steps ahead, testing his own determination. Whatever doubts that were left inside of him had to be suppressed. No human trait which Voldemort planned to fake was going to work.

He raised the wand slowly, feeling how the coldness in his fingertips ran down his arm and spilled into his heart. The man before him collapsed suddenly, hanging in the chains beaten and defeated.

Something deep inside Harry screamed in terror and made his breath falter. His resolution wavered again.

It wasn't supposed to feel like he was making a terrible mistake. What was it that his instincts were trying to tell him? He couldn't possibly change his mind about killing him at that very moment. If he did, who would avenge his friends?

Umbridge? Or her nasty advisor? Or someone else who didn't care about them at all?

Harry gritted his teeth.

He could not allow that. It has to be him. And it would be.

Surely, looking into Voldemort's eyes will help him strengthen his fierce antipathy towards the man. And then he would do it. The moment was just seconds away.

With that final resolution Harry met the red eyes which used to haunt him in his dreams for so many years. They were widely opened, distressed and completely different with the lack of cruelty, and malevolence which used to be permanently imprinted in them. Yet, they weren't flat as Harry expected of something which had lost its predominant feature. If anything they were much deeper, warmer and more alive. Looking into them felt like receiving a gentle lover's hug and kiss with words that everything will be all right.

And suddenly Harry's knees had problems carrying his own weight.

The purity of the new feelings washed away his suspicion, leaving him completely amazed.

_Harry__ … __Harry__ …__!_

He could feel Voldemort's desperate need to convey some message. How was it even possible?

"Tom?" Harry breathed out the name without even knowing he did.

In that moment, he finally came to realize what exactly felt so wrong about all of that. He was supposed to know what Voldemort was trying to tell him. Only there was a massive block of darkness surrounding his mind, separating him from the memories, leaving nothing but blank spaces inside his head… Strange that he wasn't aware of that before...

The wand which he held pointed at Voldemort's chest dropped slowly.

"What is it?" he asked himself, combing his hair with his shaking fingers. "What the hell happened to me?"

"Hem, hem…"

The connection between them was broken by Umbridge, who gave a little throat-cleaning cough.

"Is Mr. Potter experiencing some problems with his task? Perhaps he needs Aurors to assist him again?" she said sweetly and gave a little mockery laugh which made Harry's hair stand at the back of his neck. A couple of Wizengamot members who sat around her laughed as well, but Harry noticed that many others shook their heads in disapproval.

Encouraged, Harry replied in a raspy voice.

"It appears that he wants to say something."

"He was given a chance to express himself and he refused it!" Umbridge squeaked angrily. "And you, Potter, better stop procrastinating, or someone more qualified will be called up to do the justice!"

"Someone more qualified in killing?-!" Harry hissed angrily, making several people wince.

"Look, I just want to hear what he has to say."

Umbridge's pulpy lips spread to form a fake, sweet smile and her stubby fingers quickly adjusted her pink cardigan.

"Only," she whispered sweetly and she rose from her seat, which made her actually smaller than before, "No one is really interested to hear what you want anymore, Potter."

A deaf silence spread over the room. Harry glared at Umbridge and she glared back at him, giggling malevolently every now and then. Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded, reaching a new decision.

"Well, if that's the case," he said and turned back to Voldemort, "Then I won't ask your permission."

With a sharp flick of his wand the silencing charm was lifted off Voldemort and Harry said quickly.

"Well, Riddle, you have a couple of seconds. Speak now or never."

Voldemort took in a deep breath and slowly got up on his feet.

"Harry…," he whispered quietly.

Harry's heart began to beat faster, as if trying to shatter his chest bone. He became so focused on the Dark Lord that he didn't hear the growing commotion among the Wizegamot members, nor did he notice the Aurors as they rearranged their positions around the pedestal.

Voldemort's lips moved again.

"Run … you fool."

"And why should I?" Harry snapped, licking his dry lips quickly. "Tell me!"

"Because you're in danger. You spoiled their plans," Voldemort's quiet voice grew in strength. "Who would have thought that Negura would underestimate the power of love…"

"What?" Harry snarled, not having the slightest idea about what was going on. "What are you talking about?-!"

The red eyes found his again, before looking over Harry's shoulder in distress. And Harry followed the direction of his gaze and saw the growing chaos and fear among the present magicians. People were whispering to themselves, then leaving their seats, hurrying towards the doors. Also, Umbridge's advisor had already left his post beside the Minister's chair and was now approaching the pedestal where Harry stood.

"Harry…," Voldemort said softly, making Harry's heart painfully jump in his chest.

"I have one last wish which I want you to grant me…"

"What is it?" Harry said quickly. "If you want me to die then…"

"No!" Voldemort hissed and his whole body tensed up as if in pain.

"No," he repeated. "You must live, Harry Potter. Live and don't regret anything. Promise me … promise me that…"

Harry took two stumbling steps backwards. Hearing him say those words was simply beyond incredible.

"Why…," Harry gasped, "Why do you want something like that? You hate me … you … you want me dead…"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Harry felt a vibration of a spell which flew past him and silenced Voldemort once again.

"Potter … you … you…!"

Umbridge, who had bothered to come all the way to him, appeared to have some kind of a seizure. Her toad-like face was pastel white with many awful red splotches over it and she was shaking uncontrollably.

But she regained control of herself with impressive speed and then she smiled sweetly.

"That's enough, dear. I see that you're still a rebel, aren't you? Unruly, refusing to follow the rules, disregarding the necessary discipline as always, am I correct? Yes, yes, I've always known that the Ministry doesn't need Aurors like you. Now go back to your seat and stay there. I will show you how it is done!"

Harry gritted his teeth and slowly shook his head.

"I don't think so," he said icily, though everything was boiling inside him, especially at the sight of the Elder Wand in her hand.

"What was that?" Umbridge said with false sweetness.

"I said no!" Harry repeated in a firmer voice, his eyes being drawn towards her advisor who had stopped in a shadow beneath the pedestal, running his fingers over the harsh edges of his wand.

Harry didn't let that sight distract him. He needed to voice his doubts aloud before it was too late. He needed to say it now so that everyone could hear him.

"I sacrificed myself three years ago to protect my friends from Voldemort. I offered them the same protection as my mother gave me when I was a little child. Just as Voldemort couldn't touch me before, he wasn't able to cause them any permanent harm. So, tell me, how it is possible that he succeeded yesterday?-! And why is it that I can't remember any details of it? I have no memories of the duel, neither of the circumstances which led to it! They told me that it is a result of the Cruciatus Curse, which was placed upon me, but that is _a __lie_. I withstood that curse several times and I know its effects. Losing my memory is not one of them for sure!"

Harry took a deep breath and looked over the surprised faces all around before speaking again.

"I want to know _who_ changed my memories and _why_! And I'm certain that you know it, Dolores, but you prefer playing this little dirty game, don't you? But the truth will come out, I assure you of that!"

Rita Skeeter's ecstatic cry reached his ears but Harry was already watching someone else. A dark figure of Umbridge's advisor glided out of the shadow and Harry's stomach made a flip-flop at the sight of that personified menace.

"You!" Umbridge screamed out, losing her nerves momentarily and pointing her thick finger at the dark clad man. "You said that he won't remember! You said that he will do it! Look at me now! I'm ruined! And it's only your fault! You are FIRED!"

To Harry's surprise, the man smiled that wry smile from before and raised his wand.

"How unfortunate," he whispered softly. "For you."

"_Avada__ Kedavra!"_

It all happened too fast for Harry to process it. His mind went blank, his wand pointing uselessly on the place where Umbridge's plump, jellied body landed. Her head was turned to him and he could see that her mouth remained twisted in anger. Only her inanimate, widely opened eyes displayed her silent terror.

She was dead.

For a moment or two, no one moved or even breathed. And then panic exploded with the power of a bomb.

"W-what?" Harry gasped, his brain still refusing to accept what he saw.

The man didn't seem to be bothered in slightest by what he had done. He did it intentionally, Harry realized as he watched him raise his hands up to the ceiling, calling out two names. He had wanted to kill Umbridge, the Minister for Magic, not Voldemort.

"Cuthbert, Brutus."

Hundreds of bats left their hideout in the dark shadows, flying above heads of the panicking crowd. Two of them, however, headed directly towards the wizard, changing their appearance within a blink of an eye.

Vampires, Harry realized in shock as two male figures took their position beside their leader.

The man's order was appalling in its simplicity.

"Finish it. It's time."

A nasty green curse missed him just by few inches and he whirled around to repay the Auror who sent it in kind, though his aiming was much more precise.

Harry staggered backwards.

A second murder before his eyes during a single minute… And he was just standing there, doing nothing at all! Waking up from his trance, Harry raised the wand quickly and screamed.

"Who the hell are you?-! Leave them alone! Fight me!"

The man appeared to be greatly pleased to have his attention. He bowed a little and that horrible grin found its way on his lips again.

"My name is Dragomir Negura. You may not remember me, Harry Potter, but I assure you we are rather well acquainted by now. Having a duel with you will be my immense pleasure. I truly look forward to see his reaction when you die before his eyes _again_."

In that moment, Voldemort's self-control snapped.

"NEGURA!" he screamed, delirious, thrashing about in the chains, his fury reaching monstrous proportions. "You sly, pitiful coward! _I_ am your opponent! Don't you … _dare_!" he wheezed as he ran out of breath.

"You've chosen your path, Voldemort," Negura replied indifferently. "None of this would have happened if you decided differently. You are free to hate _yourself_ as much as you want," he said before turning back to Harry and pointing his wand at him.

Harry had no idea what was that about. His thoughts swirled madly in his head, leaving him clueless in all cases. Why would Voldemort want to protect him? What memories were erased from his head? How could so many vampires infiltrate the Ministry? How could he stop them from attacking everyone? Was here anyone who could answer his questions … anyone beside Voldemort?

His quest for answers could wait though and the duel that weird guy as well. He first needed to help those people. If only Hermione were here, she would surely tell him what to do… Vampires … they couldn't stand a sharp light, right? It was worth a try.

"_Lumos__ Maxima!"_ he cried out, producing a massive flare, which flew high to the ceiling, blinding everyone momentarily. In its aftermath he could see the members of Wizengamot desperately trying to open the main doors and according to the dull sounds coming from the other side someone was trying to help them.

"_Crucio!"_

Harry's world disappeared without any warning in a sea of blinding pain. Though he was biting his tongue to hold back his screams, he ultimately failed, screeching on top of his lungs as the hot knives were cutting deeper and deeper into his body.

And then the pain was gone and as an echo to his previous screams, he heard Voldemort calling his name.

He spat blood from his bitten tongue on the floor and tiredly raised himself on his feet again.

"It was you," he whispered as he looked directly at Negura who had sent that torture curse into his back. "I remember better now. It was you who tortured me before, not Voldemort. You wanted some … information from me."

"Yes, indeed. I wanted to know a couple of things," the man nodded slowly. "You know, people are usually rather talkative after spending half an hour under the Cruciatus Curse, but you always have to be special, haven't you? Fortunately, you're rather poor in Occlumency, which helped me a great deal to get the desired information out of your mind," Negura shrugged and paused as several loud bangs made the massive door to the courtroom vibrate in their hinges. "Do you hear them, Harry Potter? It's your friends behind that door - your dear Ron and Hermione together with the rest of the Order, Aurors, Death Eaters … nearly everyone. They still think that they'll be able to save you two," he gestured towards him and the Dark Lord. "How terribly mistaken they are. The moment they open this door, you and your lover will be dead and they will meet their bitter end as well!"

"What are you saying?-! You … you lie! Ron and Hermione are…," the words died on Harry's tongue as he saw Negura's smirk turn even more wicked.

"Don't tell me that … you were the one who did all of that to me! Torturing me … altering my memories … why … you … you … _bastard!_" Harry choked out, his anger painting his vision in red shades.

"Poor Potter!" Negura leered at him. "You hate me and yet you can't even dream about beating me in duel! Unlike Riddle, I'm _truly_ invincible!"

"_Reducto!"_

Harry's wand shot upward and a bright flash of light cut through the air.

Negura looked down at his body and seeing that he was unharmed, he began to laugh.

"That's the best what you can do? Miss me with your pitiful little curse?"

"I wouldn't say I missed," Harry said coldly, making the Leader's laugh freeze on his lips.

A second later, one of the chains fell on the floor, clattering loudly against the stones.

Harry saw that Negura hesitated before he glanced over his shoulder to judge the damage. Outwardly, he showed no reaction to the fact that one of Voldemort's hands was free.

"You are not planning to set that mass murderer free, are you Harry?" he asked when he turned his head back.

"Why not? He's not the only one here who falls within that category."

"I see. If that's the case…"

Harry knew what was coming even without Voldemort's warning shout. He still had a chance to dodge that spell but he had to be faster than ever before.

So when Negura screamed the words, Harry threw himself off the pedestal, feeling how the Killing Curse sang in his hair.

He hit the floor below hard and breathed in some dust. Beside him the other wizards and witches were still fighting the vast numbers of undead beasts, losing to them one after one. Harry didn't understand why they couldn't simply break the doors open and flee. What kind of magic kept them locked? Holding back coughs, Harry got up with some difficulty.

"Dead, Harry?" Negura's voice reached him from above. "I think not. I shall remedy that in a moment!"

Harry raised his head and straightened his back, watching Negura approach him at a leisurely stroll. Behind him Voldemort was livid due to his fruitless attempts to release his other hand. Harry, however, knew that he couldn't win over those magic restraining chains.

"Why?" Harry asked and turned his head to meet Negura's eyes squarely. "What have we done to you?-!"

"Does the name Nestor Desalmado mean anything to you?" the man asked coldly.

Harry shook his head, tightening his lips.

"I see. Maybe I overdid that memory charm a bit. Anyway, you should have remembered him, Potter. He was my friend and you killed him. I don't need any other reason than that, though I have a couple more in your case."

"Your friend?" Harry spat out and pointed at the rabid vampires. "Like one of those?"

"You know what, Potter?"

Negura stopped at the end of the pedestal, pointing his wand at Harry's heart.

"Die already," he said.

**"_Too__ late,__ freak."_**

Harry's eyes widened instantly as he heard that hiss for he knew perfectly well to whom it belonged.

Voldemort's powers were truly extraordinary and Harry had made a mistake when he didn't take that into consideration. The Dark Lord used them to pull the second chain out of the ceiling together with a huge chunk of brickwork and now he stood behind Negura, the Elder Wand which he stole from Umbridge's dead body in his hand, his ominous magic fizzling at its tip.

Though Negura turned around faster than Harry's eyes could see, he still didn't have time to cast the counter curse and he was literally swept off the pedestal's surface under that blast, disappearing somewhere in the mayhem of fighting magicians and vampires.

Within the next second Voldemort was down beside Harry, cutting the heavy shackles around his thin wrists and then peering into Harry's eyes with an unidentifiable expression. Harry just gulped idly. All he could think about was that he was going to die any moment.

A new explosion somewhere above them ended that stagnant moment and the next thing Harry felt were the long, cool fingers curling around his nape, pushing down, bending his spine.

"Keep your head down, boy. And now come, quickly, I must get you out of here."

Harry soon realized that all his attempts to resist were futile. He was literally dragged aside towards the solid brick wall which Voldemort blasted apart without any effort and then pushed Harry through the hole, following him right away. There was nowhere to run, for it wasn't even a regular room. No windows, no doors, just four walls and Voldemort blocking the entrance he made. It was probably one of the traps for the convicts who were attempting to escape the courtroom.

Harry lit up the tip of his wand, keeping it up and ready. He saw the man advance on him and quickly tried to prepare himself for an attack. He was not going to give up without a fight. There was no way he would…

Voldemort grasped a full fist of his hair and pulled, making his head fall backward. Before Harry could voice any protest, a pair of cold, soft lips met his dry ones, brushing against them lightly.

In that second, Harry knew he was going to explode. His heart crammed itself into his throat, stifling his breath and making his whole head throb. There couldn't be possibly a single one thing which would be more twisted and depraved than this and yet, deep inside his soul, Harry felt no resistance. However, the cool tongue tracing the seam of his firmly closed lips was something he couldn't accept that easily.

Pushing him off forcefully, Harry slammed his fist into the pale face, sending the Dark Lord effectively stumbling to the ground.

To his credit, Voldemort composed himself quickly enough. The next moment he was on his feet again, wiping blood off his torn lip.

"I have no intention to hurt you," he said quietly as he glanced at Harry.

"Yeah, right. Don't make me laugh," Harry snapped through gritted teeth. "Just because we both apparently don't like that Negura guy, it doesn't mean that I suddenly fancy you or vice versa!"

Voldemort's lips tightened for a second. He wiped as several new drops of blood which appeared on his lip, and then spoke in a calm, firm and authoritative voice.

"Lower your wand. I want to talk."

That was basically what Harry wanted to do too. He was still in a desperate need for answers. But he didn't want to weaken himself in his presence, especially not now when Riddle possessed the Elder Wand again.

"Lower yours first," he said quietly and to his immense surprise Voldemort went even further than that. He hid it in his sleeve and let his empty hands drop along his body.

Harry could only do as much as not to aim his own at him directly.

"Negura changed my memories," began thereafter, watching the Dark Lord's hands curl into fists.

"That much is apparent," he said.

"Before I ask why, there is something … I need to know," Harry said quietly. After a pregnant pause which he needed to collect himself, Harry asked as steadily as he could:

"Ron and Hermione… are they dead or not? Did you … did you kill them?"

Voldemort showed no reaction at first. It lasted a couple seconds before he sighed and shook his head.

"I didn't kill your friends, Potter. If that is what you remember then you can be certain that this memory is one of those which Negura planted into your head."

Harry closed his eyes briefly, bathing in relief.

"I see… I can still hope then," he whispered. He made a few steps backwards and leaned against the wall.

"I wonder what his reason was," he said aloud then, trying to goad Voldemort to giving him an explanation. "Why would he do something like that to me? Why would he want me to think that you killed them?"

"Clearly because he wanted you to kill me," the Dark Lord answered dully.

"Did he have a special reason for that?"

"Yes."

There was a momentary silence from which Harry understood that Voldemort wasn't willing to say any more than that. Just to be sure, Harry tried again.

"Er …What reason?"

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed and Harry once again noticed that there was something different about them. Was it the shade of their colour? No, it was something else…

"What information did Negura obtain from you when he tortured you?" he asked instead.

"I don't remember that," Harry shook his head immediately. "All I recall is him screaming at me 'where is it' over and over. Anyway, does it really matter now? He's dead, isn't he?"

"He is a vampire, Potter," the Dark Lord hissed resentfully. "He's been dead for a couple of centuries … or, maybe, it's better to say _undead_ since that is the definition of his cursed existence."

"What?" Harry asked, pushing himself off the wall. "But that's impossible! I saw him perform spells which only magicians can do. Vampires cannot kill people with Killing Curses. They use their teeth."

"Naturally. Negura can only pretend that he is a wizard because he has a piece of his soul hidden in his Horcrux. I have to destroy it in order to defeat him."

"And since you are asking me, I am supposed to know what that Horcrux is," Harry concluded.

"No," Voldemort said, coming a little closer to Harry. "With your dreadful luck you just probably took it by chance without knowing what it was and then left it somewhere. Negura is trying to get it back. He even postponed killing you for the moment he has his soul back within his grasp just in case your memory was a forgery and he would need to question you again."

"You mean torture me, right?" Harry snorted. "Besides, what he attempted several minutes ago can hardly be called procrastination."

"That's because you thwarted his plans again. He's only starting to learn what it means to have you as his enemy."

Voldemort suddenly halted, probably realizing that he was cornering Harry unwittingly. He took a step backward and glanced towards the aperture in the wall. "I'm certain that he went to search for it by now. Only that can explain why he isn't here at this moment."

"Meaning that I should remember what he is after as quickly as possible," Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "You know … I wonder why it is so easy for me to believe in your words. I should doubt them at least, shouldn't I?"

"If you wanted to have your memories back, you would understand that there's no need for doubts. However, since you refused my aid, you apparently don't want to remember anything."

Voldemort's voice was icy, but Harry could tell that it was due to hurt rather than anger.

"You tried to help me?" he looked up, boring his eyes into the Dark Lord's face. "I am not aware of that."

"Exactly," Voldemort hissed, retreating from him until a stream of light coming from the courtroom fell over his face. "You aren't."

His pupils contracted in reaction to the sudden illumination and Harry finally understood what was so different about his eyes. Gone were the nasty snake-like slits which appeared to reflect no light at all. His eyes were still red but – Harry couldn't find any better definition than – human. And since the eyes were the mirrors to the soul, could it possibly mean that…

"I'll go find Negura now," Voldemort said blandly. "You'd better stay here and try to remember."

"Wait!" Harry yelped, sprung forward and caught his wrist. He didn't know what made him act so impulsively, but he couldn't let him go before he had puzzled out this mystery.

"What happened to you?"

Through the low neckline of his robes Harry caught a glimpse of fresh, deep wounds on his chest which seemed to be caused by some narrow, sharp objects ... nails perhaps? Did he incur that to himself? If yes, then why?

The Dark Lord looked away and for some reason it made Harry feel miserable.

"What do you mean by that?" the older wizard asked coldly.

"I think you know exactly what I mean," Harry said and tightened his hold.

The tension in the gaunt body increased.

"That's none of your business, boy," Voldemort hissed, still facing away.

"I don't think so," Harry held his own.

Voldemort said nothing. There was an unpleasant pause when Harry could only hear screams of the fighting wizards and witches coming from the courtroom. He tried not to listen too much. First he had to deal with this.

"Your eyes look different," he whispered. "They look human. And you act … very … strangely around me."

The silence stretched for another long moment and all Harry could do was to wait patiently for Voldemort to speak. And when he did, it left him breathless.

"It's because I fell in love ... carelessly, accidentally…," Riddle whispered and the torment in his voice had the power to tear Harry's heart apart. "I was foolishly convinced that such a thing cannot ever happen to me," he continued, staring ahead into the fighting crowd.

"Y –you … r…really?" Harry stuttered out, having problems with coherency for once.

"There is nothing I can possibly do about it now. It's an insanely powerful feeling," Voldemort added dully. "No one has ever warned me how intense it is and how much it hurts. But I should have known. I should have expected it and be prepared for every possibility…"

"And who … who is that person…," Harry began, but he ran out of breath in the middle of his question.

It was partly because Voldemort turned to him with that pained expression and partly because he already _knew_ the answer himself. Only that could miraculously explain Voldemort's strange behaviour, his incomprehensible last wish, their kiss, Harry's own weird reaction to him, his desire to be close to him, his blind trust to his words, everything…

Harry stumbled backward until his back collided with the wall and his fingers dug into the cold bricks to find some support. He felt as though he was suffocating.

"No," he whispered. "No … I don't believe it. I can't. It's just … no…"

He slid down to the ground, gasping for breath, attempting to think of some different, more merciful explanation, which would make some sense to him. Nevertheless, he found out that he was considering Negura's previous words instead. He didn't pay them much attention back then, but now when he understood better…

"_How__ terribly __mistaken __they __are. __The __moment __they __open __this __door, __you __and__ your __lover __will __be __dead __and__ they __will __meet __their __bitter __end __as __well!"_

"Me and my _lover_," Harry groaned quietly. "We _can't_ be really … hah …"

Harry forced some air inside his burning lungs and as he breathed out, he muttered for himself again.

"And yet it explains both, why he wanted me to kill you and why you said that I should live without regrets…"

Harry gazed into his opened palms, judging his options. He could either stick to the memories he knew that weren't his, or face the reality with all the consequences. After a minute, he scrambled back to his feet and approached the silent wizard.

"I want to know it," he told him, forcing his voice to be calm and determined. "I want to know the truth."

"You don't," Voldemort said distantly without looking at him. "I can feel your disgust."

Harry tucked his wand into his back pocket and wiped his hands into the rough denim of his jeans.

"I admit that this is really hard for me," he began, "But if that's what the truth is then I want to believe to my own judgement. Besides, there is nothing disgusting about love," he said resolutely and after the shortest hesitation he reached out, tracing his fingers over Voldemort's cold cheek. The smoothness of his complexion was incredible. It left Harry completely over-sensitized. Other than that, he was amazed how easily his simple gesture could erase most of the strain from the Dark Lord's pale features.

The long fingers captured his, holding his hand in place until the skin beneath Harry's palm warmed pleasantly.

"How can I remember?" Harry asked softly.

"Contradiction," Voldemort whispered and turned his head a little so his lips touched Harry's palm. "You must do something Negura wanted you to forget."

"Is that why you kissed me before?" Harry asked, fascinated by that white, almost translucent skin rubbing against his.

"Yes."

Harry gulped heavily.

"Well … then why it didn't work?" he asked nervously, standing so close to him that he could feel the igniting charge between their bodies.

"I think you know the answer," a cool breath fanned his ear lobe as the Dark Lord leaned down to him and Harry closed his eyes, anticipation and excitement pulsing along his spine. His hands touched the coarse fabric of Voldemort's robes, moving upward over his chest to renew the skin contact. Harry's lips parted hesitantly and then he was kissing him: tasting his drying blood on his tongue; feeling the man's ferocious response; his heavy, irregular breath and his rapid heartbeat as their bodies nestled against each other. The thin fingers sank into Harry's jacket and tucked it up a bit before the cool hand sneaked into the heat beneath it.

Harry jerked his head back at the chilly feeling gliding over his skin and Voldemort instinctively followed his movement to delay the parting, making sure that their lips were still connected before breathing out two words against them.

"Harry … Harry…"

Yes, that was what he whispered to him before. His name, just his name as they lay upon the satin sheets, tired after their love making. And Harry remembered kissing his face, his lips, stroking his naked body, telling him about his feelings, about his love and happiness. And then he pulled him into a warm embrace, saying his dearest wish aloud. He wanted to be with him, to stay by his side as long as possible, and even longer than that… And he remembered how light-headed he felt after he saw the genuine smile which he had grown to adore so much…

And then there was Negura, tearing him apart from that memory with his cold, superior indifference. He remembered he wanted to die rather than to forget. He screamed and screamed in agony, fighting against that inhuman assault until he lost his consciousness. But he couldn't win against his powers.

In the end, he lost. He forgot.

He was forced to betray his feelings together with the man he loved...

Harry slowly ended their kiss, sobbing, wiping his face into his sleeves.

"I'm sorry," he choked, fighting the new tears, which threatened to spill out. "I'm so sorry, Tom. I didn't want to forget … I tried … I swear I tried to resist him … but he was too strong…"

How could he ever doubt that he loved him? His heart told him that the moment he saw him enter the courtroom, and yet the web of Negura's lies nearly brought him to…

"Good heavens, I almost did it! I really … wanted to kill you!"

Harry couldn't hold back a tortured cry as he buried his face into the hard chest.

"Forgive me… Please, forgive me," he whispered, his shoulders shaking as he hugged him close, fearing the moment when he will be pushed away.

A cool hand gently caressed his head and then lifted his chin, making him look up into the Dark Lord's face.

A single tear ran down his pale, hollow cheek, glittering like a diamond.

"I should be the one begging for forgiveness, Harry."

Harry hesitantly reached out his trembling hand and let that tear slip on his fingers, watching it trickle down until it pooled in the middle of his palm. Only then Harry closed his hand into fist and pressed it against his lips.

"I love you," he breathed out shakily.

"I love you too," came the just as soft reply.

They shared a quick, gentle kiss to seal those words and then Harry straightened up, determined to explore everything about that breathtaking feeling later, preferably when they were not in a mortal danger.

"Right. But now, Negura's waiting. We have to...!"

Voldemort just opened his mouth to interrupt him, however Harry already stopped dead in his tracks and ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Oh, crap! I forgot! We need that memory which I still can't recall! If only I could..."

"Harry?"

A quiet, distressed voice interrupted Harry's rant.

Turning his head towards the aperture in the wall, Harry jumped a foot high in a joy when he saw Ron's distressed face peeping from behind the rubble.

Just a second later, Hermione's head appeared right beside Ron's.

"We're really sorry to disturb you again," she said, blushing slightly. "We can wait until you..."

"Ron! Hermione!" Harry hurried over to them, beaming in happiness as he pulled them into a tight embrace, too overcome with emotion to speak for a moment. Seeing them alive restored his vitality with the same power as Phoenix tears healed a Basilisk's bite.

"Harry," Hermione whimpered in a shaky voice. "Thank God, you're all right."

"Yeah," Ron nodded fervently as he retreated a bit. "We've seen Umbridge! Since Aurors failed to protect her, we were afraid that … you … that we were too late. First of all, we couldn't get inside of this dreadful courtroom. I don't know what kind of nasty enchantment was put on the lock of the door, but the more powerful magic we used, the stronger the barrier became. In the end, Kingsley had to return to Hogwarts and came back with Hagrid and Grawp. Believe me, it's only due to the raw power of their muscles that we are here right now. Fortunately, Negura didn't cause you any harm in the meantime," he sighed with relief.

"I would disagree with that," Voldemort sneered coldly, making Ron momentarily freeze where he stood and then back away in haste.

"Well, yeah," Harry nodded and sighed. "Negura altered some of my crucial memories about you guys and about Voldemort as well. But now when I see that what he tried to make me believe in was a lie, I can tell with ease which of my memories are fake and which are true."

"Also, he tortured you to the brink of toleration," the Dark Lord added icily, still approaching Harry, however Ron and Hermione stopped their retreat, looking aghast.

"Harry...," Hermione stammered on verge of tears.

"Right… No need to worry, though, I think I managed to keep my sanity intact. Anyway, Tom thinks that Negura did it because I somehow managed to get hold of his Horcrux. The problem is that I don't remember what that object was or where I left it," Harry sighed, infuriated with his inability to see through the remaining dark patches which clouded his memories. "But it is very likely that Negura managed to get that information out of me, which means that he's looking for it right now..."

"Yes," Voldemort who stood beside him interrupted him with his cold voice and then raised his spidery forefinger, pointing it at Harry's alarmed friends. "And that is also why I'm pleased that you two have come here."

'Pleased?' Ron's mouth twitched, staring in disbelief. According to his expression, Harry could tell that his best friend couldn't decide what to do first: flee or faint. Even Hermione turned several shades paler, squeezing Ron's hand in hers and holding her breath.

"I will find Negura and stop him from reclaiming his Horcrux," Voldemort continued nonchalantly, "And while I'm gone, you will protect Harry from any harm. If you fail to do so, I will make you regret the day you were born."

The moment he said those words, Hermione barely suppressed a frightened gasp, while Ron turned positively green, muttering a quiet prayer.

"Wait a moment!" Harry sputtered out, real anger flaring in his face as he grasped Voldemort's robes. The Dark Lord didn't seemed to be disturbed; if anything he appeared to enjoy Harry's outburst.

"Stop threatening my friends!" Harry snarled. "Besides, none of what you said counts, because I'm going with you!"

"You're not," the older wizard said softly, confusing Harry to the point that he couldn't immediately think of a comeback.

"Your task is much more important than mine," Voldemort continued and caressed Harry's face, extinguishing his outrage by that gentle touch. "You must remember what Negura's Horcrux is and then you have to find it and destroy it. I can hold him back for some time so you can have it done, but even I cannot oppose him forever."

"But...," Harry began.

**"**_**Harry, **__**love, **_**_I'm __sure __you __can __do __it,"_ **he hissed in Parseltongue and regardless of Ron's protesting squeaks, he gave Harry a surprisingly warm kiss on his lips.

"But I hate to leave you all alone. I have no one to promise me that you will be okay," Harry said, clenching his teeth, tightening his clutch on Voldemort's garments.

"As long as you're all right,you don't have to worry about me," the Dark Lord replied and softly pried Harry's hands open, slipping from his grasp.

In that moment, Harry felt like he was losing him without a chance of reunion and the possibility of that smothered him briefly, making him produce a quiet, strangled sound.

"Wait!" he cried out and then he caught up with him, took his face into his palms and kissed him with passion, wishing that the moment would never end.

Yet, it was just a wishful thinking because after that Tom Riddle was gone, leaving Harry with the painful insecurity gnawing at his heart. From this moment on, Voldemort's life was in his hands again. He curled them into fists, regaining his determination.

"I'll find it and destroy it, Tom. You can count on me."

_**R&R**_

_*** Parseltongue**_


	19. The Ring and the Wand

**Autor's note: **Hi, I'm terribly sorry for keeping you waiting... I hope you'll forgive me.

Oh, as usual, many special thanks to my beta: **TheSecretUchiha.** You're great! Thank you!

Rating of the chapter:** T **

**xxxxx  
**

**The Ring and the Wand**

xxxxx

_Courtroom n.13,_

_Ministry of Magic, London_

_3rd January, __early__ afternoon_

xxxxx

"We've got to move," Harry said tersely and tore his eyes from the spot where he last saw Voldemort. "Sitting here won't help me remember. There are surely dozens of places where I could drop the Horcrux and we have to search them all."

He came over to the gap in the wall and peered into the courtroom. There were still least two dozens of fighting magicians, but most of them already left as the battle spread over the whole Ministry like a plague.

"I wish I could stay here and fight but finding the Horcrux is more important than that...," he sighed quietly.

"Well, we can go back to Hog's Head first," Ron suggested pensively. "Then I can only think of my home and the Shrieking Shack."

"You've forgotten Hogwarts," Hermione reminded him, "However... Harry probably seized the Horcrux the last time he encountered Negura, which makes the Hog's Head the likeliest location, unless you count You-Know-Who's place."

"Voldemort's place?" Harry looked baffled for a moment. Then he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand and sighed in frustration. "I guess I should remember where it is, right?"

"Honestly, Harry, I'm the last one to complain that you don't," Ron whispered. "It's not like I'm dying to visit You-Know-Who's home. Besides, I can imagine his reaction if he found us there. I think that a couple of AK's would make his day a lot brighter..."

"He wouldn't be at home, Ron," Hermione hissed. "If you haven't noticed he went to fight a certain vampire. If he didn't do that we would be all dead already!"

"I know, I know! I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you _did_!"

"Harry, I..."

"Stop it, please!" Harry cut across them resolutely.

"Let's go to the Hog's Head first," he made a quick decision. "Hopefully, I'll remember something more once I'm back there."

Ron nodded and so did Hermione and then all of them moved across the courtroom in haste, trying to avoid a confrontation with vampires.

Unfortunately, soon it became nearly impossible not to get involved.

Harry realized that and decided to use the _Incarcerous_ spell exclusively as their mission was his top priority and he didn't want to lose more time than necessary. Pity that Ron didn't see it the same way.

"_Expulso! _Take that, you freak!" his best friend cast curse after curse, sending the vampires flying through the air.

"Come on, Ron! Stop provoking them!" Harry called out once he noticed that his friends weren't right behind him.

"Ron! Please! We have to hurry!" Hermione implored before she caught his hand, dragging him after Harry.

"I know, I'm coming!" Harry heard him chafe loudly. "It's just that I can't simply forgive them that they wanted to kill you, Hermione," he said, but followed her nonetheless.

They rushed into the corridor, Harry leading the way.

"It seems that the Anti-Disapparation Jinx has been placed on the whole department," he said, panting as they finally reached the end of the long, wide passage. Harry quickly surveyed the crossing, deciding how to progress further.

"We have to get to the Atrium," he said, pointing at the stairs leading to the lifts. "We'll try to Apparate from there."

"And if it still won't work?" Ron hurled out. "What will we do?"

"We'll use the Floo Network then. I don't care that it is monitored. It's not that Negura can go after us when he's dueling Volde-"

In that moment Harry caught a glimpse of a movement by his right side. Acting upon his trained instincts, he cried out.

"Shield! Now!"

"_Protego Totalum!"_ they screamed in union and the charm expanded around them, blocking an attack in the very last moment. Their assailants tried to break in several times, but upon their failure to use a moment of surprise, they didn't stood much chances and eventually retreated back into shadows.

"Who are you? Show yourselves!" Harry commanded, but his voice wavered a bit in trepidation.

Since his eyes were already accustomed to the decrease of light, he could see one of the attackers approaching their shield. His hood was drawn deep over his face, keeping his identity secret.

"N-Negura?" Harry choked out, expecting the worst.

"Wrong," the man spoke quietly. "But don't look so relieved. I'm here because the Leader expressed his deepest concern about your continuing existence, which is quite an achievement for an ordinary wizard like you, Harry Potter."

"You're one of them," said Harry, though panic was causing his chest to constrict. "You're one of the dark lords Negura killed."

"Killed you say...," the man said bemusedly. "A typical, narrow-minded mortal's opinion..."

He took another step forward as if he wanted to test out the power of the protection charm Harry, Ron and Hermione conjured.

"You think you're safe in there, don't you?" he whispered, running his fingers over the shining, seemingly impenetrable barrier, before pulling something out from his sleeve. "You'd better think twice."

He raised his hand high above his head and it took Harry just a split of second to recognize the wand he was holding. Too upset to care for the consequences, Harry jumped forward and fell back, instantly impended by his own Shield Charm.

"Harry!"

Hermione's frightened yelp pervaded the blazing anger which momentarily possessed him. Still, he was shaking in rage as he receded back to his friends.

"You've taken Voldemort's wand!" he hissed.

"Merely borrowed it from the Leader," the ex-dark lord said, amused. "It's a good wand, I admit; powerful and fairly trained, but still not good enough for me."

"Vampires don't use wands!" Harry snapped resolutely. Lupin taught him that in his third year and Harry never needed to doubt Lupin's words.

"Indeed," the undead probably smirked as Harry heard the mockery in his voice.. "But I am a dark lord first and foremost. I've been experimenting with my vampiric magic for centuries and I ultimately found a way how to become even greater than the Leader himself!"

He snorted quietly and Harry noticed a brief flash of his yellowish teeth from beneath his hood.

"The Leader's still counting on his average mortal's magic while I was developing skills reaching much further than that. I can release my powers using the most powerful wand of all and tonight when Voldemort dies, it will finally fall into my possession."

His voice grew icier as he added.

"There's one more condition. I also need to sacrifice a few innocent souls for that purpose and I think that yours will be more than sufficient."

Harry felt as though a brick had slid down through his chest into his stomach. For a moment he wished he misheard or misunderstood the meaning of those words.

"Harry … I think I know him," Ron peeped into Harry's ear in a barely audible whisper. "His name's Cuthbert. Negura sent him to capture me and Hermione when they attacked the Burrow. He's an excellent duelist. And way too fast! He dodged every curse we sent at him."

"We'll see if he'll be able to dodge three curses at once," Harry whispered in a glum voice. "But first, we have to get rid of the others," he added, trying to move his lips as little as possible.

"Harry," Hermione, who was until that moment silent, whispered urgently. "I … I'm afraid we won't have time for that. Listen."

Just as she said it, their surroundings changed. The darkness deepened, becoming thicker and even more formidable. Soon Harry could no longer see the glimmer of the shield. And then a whiff of an icy cold air fanned his face, sending a chill running down his spine. A sense of foreboding, the like of which he had only a couple of times before, hung heavily on him. He stood still, listening, straining his ears, knowing that if his fears were correct, he would hear them first...

The moment the long, hoarse, rattling breaths reached his ears, his blood grew cold in his veins. He moved his hand over the handle of his wand, gripping it more tightly.

"Cuthbert's reinforcement," he whispered shakily under his breath.

"We must keep the shield!" he called at his friends.

"Harry … but the D-Dementors … they can cross it," Hermione stuttered out from behind him, confirming what he already knew.

"But if we drop it, the vampires won't hesitate to kill us," Harry whispered, trying to keep his voice even, while thinking fast.

"Harry, do you have any ideas?-!" Ron yelped, failing to hide his dread.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Whatever happens, don't give in! The Dementors won't attack us as long as we are able to fight our desperation!" he gasped, knowing how difficult his request was. "It is possible, trust me! I know it because when Voldemort failed to kill me in the Forbidden Forest, I was able to repel them … I managed to keep my mind … focused … on the brightest memory... I believed I could win … I believed_ in myself_."

But it was hard to stand to his own words as he saw the horribly familiar monsters gliding closer and closer, their awful grey, slimy hands sliding from inside their dark, billowing cloaks and reaching for them. The images of death, which he faced so many times in so many forms, began to fill Harry's mind. The Dementors were closing in on him, sucking every trace of happiness out of him, leaving nothing but despair...

By that moment Harry knew that his plan won't work. He knew that he will have to sacrifice the shield in order to conjure the Patronus, even though he knew that the vampires were waiting for him to do that.

He attempted to think of some happy memory, but he was already too distracted. The memory of Ron and Hermione dying by Voldemort's hand was quickly fading away as it was no longer the true source of his suffering. Instead, what was hidden beneath it was revealed to him and he doubled up in pain.

He remembered Negura standing above him, completely unhinged for once, the depth of his insanity written all over his contorted features. After torturing him over and over he broke into his mind, careless about the damage he was causing in a frantic search for certain information.

And Harry was hauled along, seeing what he saw, unable to stop him.

He mind was abused in the dirtiest way; he was stripped of all his secrets and privacy … all the memories which he wanted to keep for himself were invaded, studied, taken from him and changed to fit Negura's purpose.

Harry's resistance was slowly crumbling apart.

The Dementor's bony, scabbed hands seized his head and turned it backwards and Harry felt a putrid breath fan his face. Yet, he was too exhausted to resist it.

The monster leaned closer to him and Harry could see through the mist before his eyes the shapeless hole instead of a mouth, which was sucking in the air with a cold, rattling sound. The coldness inside him took over.

_He saw Ginny dying in a burst of green flames..._

_Ron and Hermione were dragged away from him to be murdered by ravenous vampires..._

_Voldemort was on his knees before him, waiting to be slaughtered by his hand..._

"No … please...!" Harry gasped, listening to echo of Negura's victorious scream in his head when he finally discovered what he was looking for.

_He saw an ordinary ring falling out of the pocket of his jeans..._

_It was small and silver, spinning on the floor with a soft ringing voice. _

_And then Draco reached for it and took it from the floor..._

_... and Negura laughed and laughed..._

"_Yes … YES!"_

Hermione's scream hauled Harry back to reality. He couldn't breathe over his closed throat. The dark hole of the Dementor's mouth hovered just inches above his own, tainting the air with a deathlike smell.

"Hermione...," Harry choked out, almost at a point of a collapse. "P... Patronus … do it..."

But no silver light came. They were all as helpless as he felt.

_Ginny fell to the floor, her empty, unseeing eyes turned to the enchanted ceiling which copied the blood-red colour of the sky._

_And then her face changed, and instead of Ginny, Harry saw Voldemort. _

_He was dead … dead... _

A pair of deep red eyes flashed among his thoughts, but instead of disappearing, the image slowly became stronger and brighter than anything else.

_Tom was counting on him. He gave him his word that he would destroy the Horcrux. _

"I won't..." Harry gasped, a flicker of warmth returning into his trunk and limbs.

"I won't give up..."

His resolution grew steadier and clearer.

"I _won't_ let him die!" he snarled, gripping the Dementor's slippery hands tightly.

The monster stopped the descent an inch above Harry's mouth, taken aback by a sudden change in the young man's demeanour.

"Forget about kissing me," Harry whispered in a strangled voice as he pulled the Dementor's hands away from his throat. "I'm a taken man."

Once free from the creature's grasp, he raised his wand and the stag sprung out its tip without him having to utter the incantation. It knocked the Dementor head against head, making it flip backwards.

As the creature hastily swooped into shadows, Harry spun around, silently commanding his Patronus to turn as well and chase the remaining two monsters, which were about to suck the souls out of his best friends.

"Quickly...," Harry muttered as his silver stag came galloping past him down the corridor.

Harry made just three hasty steps in the same direction, when a crashing blow hit him on the right temple, sending him staggering against the wall. Another pair of icy, clammy, but solid and strong hands gripped his shirt before he could fall. Harry used the change of momentum to his advantage and returned the stroke with the same shattering power. Something cracked and Harry only hoped that it wasn't bones in his right hand.

In the same moment the shine of his stag disappeared and the corridor returned into normality. Harry pointed his wand quickly in the general direction of the assaulter and with a dawning horror realized that what had snapped in half was something far more important than his fingers, or his whole hand as a matter of fact.

"Reckless youth," said a mocking voice and Harry was slammed against the wall again. "And now you're harmless."

Harry dropped the useless, broken wand and attempted to catch his balance.

"Ron! Hermione! Run!" he cried out as he tumbled on the floor. He tried to get up, but he was brought down again with a hard kick into his ribcage.

"Pity that I couldn't summon more Dementors," Cuthbert said coldly as he pinned him down. "It seems that the Leader requires their assistance as well. Never mind, there are hundreds of other souls here which I can use later on. I don't specifically need yours. You are nothing extraordinary, boy."

Harry blacked out momentarily due to the lack of oxygen, but he came back to consciousness when the weight was lifted off him. Several flashes of light sneaked through his nearly closed eyelids and he heard quick steps approaching him. He scrambled to his feet using the helping hand someone offered to him.

"Harry! Are you all right?"

"Harry!"

Relief filled Harry's heart when he heard those familiar voices.

"Neville … Hermione!"

Neville patted his shoulder and led him over to Hermione, who was kneeling on the floor beside Ron, wiping blood away from her boyfriend's forehead.

"How's he?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Barely conscious," she whispered. "But he'll be all right. Thanks to you, Harry. Your Patronus saved us in the last moment. And thanks to Neville, of course, who helped us with the vampires."

"You have a great timing, Neville," Harry grinned at him and leaned against the wall.

"Always glad to be of help," Neville smiled back, brandishing his favourite weapon, the sword of Gryffindor. "So, Harry, where's more ?"

"Well," Harry scratched his forehead, "Since Cuthbert is missing..."

Harry didn't finish the sentence for the vampiric dark lord materialized out of nowhere in Neville's shadow and though Harry instinctively raised his hand to protect him, he forgot that he didn't have a wand in it.

"NO!" he screamed as the cloaked man grasped the hilt of the sword Neville was holding, twisted it out of the young man's hand and stabbed.

"NEVILLE!" he bellowed but his voice was drowned in Hermione's screech.

Harry saw Neville totter backward in a silent shock, holding his bleeding shoulder. Regardless of the danger Harry leaped forward, striking a blow against the vampire's temple before whipping the sword out of the undead's hand. He couldn't confirm it though; he only heard a loud clattering sound as it fell on the ground, because the next second the vampire grasped his chin firmly from behind and turned it painfully backwards.

Harry yelled in pain and as an echo to that sound he heard a surprised gasp from behind him. The hand which was holding him firmly stiffened and then it slackened slowly.

Extricating himself from the vampire's hold Harry turned to Hermione, who was on her knees beside them, holding the sword which was driven to the hilt through the undead's chest.

Her face was drenched in tears and she was shaking all over.

"A mudblood," Cuthbert wheezed, gaping at her in shock. "Why … it had to be … a mudblood..."

He opened his mouth to say more, but no sound came out of him. Then he staggered back and forth, sinking to his knees as well.

Harry wasn't in slightest interested in watching the vampire's last moments.

He bent down to Hermione, helped her on her feet and they both ran to their friend, who was sitting, leaning against the wall and gasping for breath.

"I underestimated him a bit, didn't I?" Neville muttered, his face contorted in pain as Harry tried to stop the bleeding with the shreads of his shirt.

"It's all right, Neville. You'll be all right. Just hold on. We'll get you help."

"Hermione," Harry turned to her fast. "The blade was poisoned with the Basilisk's venom. We've got to get the antidote quickly!"

"I know," Hermione said shakily, tears in her eyes. "I know that, Harry. We need tears of the Phoenix. They are very rare, but I have some in a little flask … in my handbag!"

"Okay, I'll bring it. Where is it?"

"In the Burrow," she sobbed. "I didn't have a time to retrieve it yet..."

Harry's heart plummeted. There was no chance he could make it in time. It would take at least fifteen minutes to get there and back while Neville had three or four at most.

"Hermione! We don't have time for that!"

She shook her head, waving her wand above Neville's wound in little circles.

"S-slowing down Neville's bodily functions will hinder the poisoning. I can give him as much as twenty minutes," she whispered.

Harry closed his eyes for a second. He had to abandon his mission to save his friend. He had to prolong it for another half an hour, even though he already knew what the Horcrux was and where he could possibly find it. Neville wasn't the only person whose life was at stake at this very moment, but unlike Voldemort, Neville didn't have any chance if he didn't get the antidote in time. Voldemort could, possibly, last another half an hour, even when dueling that bastard, Negura.

"I'll be back as soon as possible," Harry said resolutely and strode over to the Cuthbert's decomposed corpse. He pulled out the sword first and then he took Voldemort's wand from the ground, instantly experiencing a warm sensation where the wood touched his palm.

"No … I'll do it, Harry. I'll bring the cure for Neville."

Harry looked up in surprise, watching how Ron slowly hoisted himself to his feet and rubbed his sore head.

"Ron," Hermione smiled and sighed in relief.

"You sure you can do it, mate?" Harry made a step towards him, but Ron didn't seem to need a support.

"Absolutely. Besides, you've got another job to do, don't you?"

Harry's face slowly brightened up.

"Yeah," he whispered.

"Don't worry, Harry, we'll make sure Neville's all right...," Hermione began, smiling meekly,

"As long as you make sure that Negura's not," Ron finished. "I must be going. Hermione, Harry … be safe."

"Right, you too Ron," Harry said quickly and turned to Hermione.

"Hermione, please, can you remember if you saw Draco by chance today?"

She looked surprised, shaking her head hesitantly.

"No, but I'm quite sure he's here, in the Ministry. Why?"

"Damn!" Harry cursed, stowing the wand into his back pocket and threading his fingers through his hair.

"He's the one who's got the Horcrux and Negura knows it," he said. "The bastard didn't lie after all. It's really a wedding ring. I just didn't realize right away that they are always _two_."

Hermione's face cleared with understanding.

"Meaning the Horcrux is the ring which belonged to his wife," she whispered and Harry nodded.

"Yeah. And I must find it now. Will you be all right here on your own?" he asked and it was her turn to nod. "Okay. Please, take care of Neville … I..."

"I will. But you, Harry, you must be very careful," she whispered, wiping tears from her face.

"I know," Harry squeezed her shoulder gently, afraid to leave her and the injured Neville alone, but he also knew how very important it was to keep going right now. Even Voldemort, being an extraordinary wizard and all, couldn't win over someone who couldn't principally be defeated.

Harry's every thought was with Tom as he sprinted down the corridors, searching for Draco Malfoy. He knew that Voldemort was still fighting; or at least he was desperately trying to convince himself so. All he needed now was a tiny shred of his famous luck without which he would hardly be able to find Malfoy in time.

Taking a wrong turn somewhere Harry realized that the mayhem of corridors brought him back to the courtroom four which he had passed in haste before.

Taking it as a sign Harry opened the door and burst in, breathing wildly. At first he thought that the room was empty, though there were obvious signs of fight everywhere around. The benches were broken and smoldering, the walls were blackened and the air smelled of acid and rust. Harry lit his wand, surveying the room in detail. It didn't take long and his eyes discovered a person curled beneath the Minister's pedestal.

Harry hurried over to him and carefully helped him sit.

"Dolohov!" he hissed as he pulled down his Death Eater's mask.

"Potter," the man snarled, obviously sharing Harry's enthusiasm.

Harry decided to shelve his enmity for once.

"Where's Malfoy? Tell me!" he hurled out in one breath.

The man coughed, rubbed his chest and shook his head a little.

"Why should I tell you anything, brat?" he snorted. "I don't know how you made the Dark Lord change his mind about you, but I still consider you my enemy."

"Honestly, I don't like you either, but if you don't tell me," Harry said and his voice faltered. "Voldemort will die and so will you."

"Whatever," the man grumbled. "Malfoy's dead. Or maybe not yet. Don't know … don't care."

"Who attacked him?" Harry asked hastily.

"_The Leader_ attacked us, Potter," Dolohov spit out and grimaced, showing Harry his ugly teeth. "I killed him … and yet the freak got up as if nothing … happened," he coughed again, wiping blood from his lips.

"The Leader...," Harry backed away slowly. "That's impossible," he muttered breathlessly.

"I've seen it, Potter. It happened over there," the man wheezed before chuckling mirthlessly.

"No, you're wrong," Harry said with a stronger voice. "Negura couldn't be here because he's dueling Voldemort right now!"

Dolohov's long face twisted into a nasty grimace.

"Dream on, Potter," he growled and then he closed his eyes. "We've lost."

"Not yet!" Harry yelped and grasped his heavy robes, shaking him. "Where did he take him? Where did Negura take Malfoy?-! Answer me!"

The man glanced up, apparently thinking if he wanted to respond or not and then he pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards an opened door in a distant corner.

"That way … why're you are so keen to die?" he wheezed, grinning maliciously.

Harry pulled the yew wand out of his pocket and sprung to his feet.

He approached the door, slowly, feeling his dread escalate. It was just too surreal, Voldemort couldn't lose this soon, it was hardly an hour since they parted. Surely, he had only momentarily retreated to regenerate his strength. But, Tom also knew that Negura would try to get his Horcrux back, if he gave him a chance. He wouldn't let him go if he could stop him, which meant that he couldn't stop him and in that case … Harry didn't even want to think about what it meant.

His stomach turned over.

He couldn't enter the room where Dolohov sent him. He couldn't challenge Negura who would throw Voldemort's defeat in his face. He didn't have the courage to do that. As he stood there, hesitating, he understood how exactly Dumbledore felt when he refused to stand up against Grindelwald. Why he decided to live in doubts for years rather than to face the reality which could easily break him...

"No," Harry whispered to himself, biting his lips fiercely. "I must believe in him. I promised him to destroy the Horcrux and I can't do it without finding Draco."

Step after step he hesitantly turned the corner, entering the opened door.

Neither Draco nor Negura were in there. The room wasn't much bigger than the Burrow's living room and probably served as a depository. Harry glanced over the countless documents which were rolled up on stacks reaching up to the ceiling. He released the breath he was holding and quickly ran down the narrow aisle to the next door on the other side of the room.

He opened it with a flick of the wand and stepped inside.

Before him there was another courtroom and he recognized this one almost instantly since his hearing took a place here five years ago. It still looked the same, giving him an illusion that the time had stopped here since the moment he left.

But it didn't.

"I wondered if I would see you again, Harry Potter."

Harry closed his eyes, fighting a strong nausea for a moment.

When he opened them again, he said just one word.

"Negura."

The half-wizard-half-vampire stepped out of a distant shadow, halting on its edge, rolling a small object between his fingers. Draco, as Harry noticed, lay by his feet, unmoving, partly covered by Harry's cloak of invisibility.

Harry, stifling a strong urge to scream in rage, gritted his teeth.

"My dear godson was under the conviction that I wouldn't see him when he was using that cloak. And I couldn't, true. I could, however, _smell_ him," Negura said simply.

"Why did you do it?" Harry whispered, his voice trembling with spite.

"Why you ask?"

Negura looked directly at Harry, approaching him slowly.

"He had taken my ring, my only token of my dear, young, beautiful wife. You must agree how very mean his behaviour was, especially since you know how very valuable that object is for me, don't you?"

Harry didn't answer, only curled his fingers more tightly around the sword and the wand.

Negura copied the movement, clutching the ring in his fist.

"Since you're here, you must have killed Cuthbert. And Brutus is dead as well, Voldemort's work. You've taken away my family and yet you want me to treat you, mortals, nicely. What a brazen arrogance! Now I have to start from the beginning with a new family, new plans, new life … but first I have to kill you and your little friends, Potter."

Harry bit his lower lip hard, but stayed silent and motionless and Negura noticed it and stopped advancing on him, considering him silently.

"Something bothers you, boy? Let me ask, is that your fate, or the fate of Lord Voldemort? It shouldn't make a difference to you since you two share it since you were born… I wonder, how did it go? … _'Neither can live while the other survives_'_?_ Anyway, you're the one who survived, Harry, and since the Prophecy says you cannot live without him, I should end your suffering, should I not?"

The words stabbed Harry's heart with the same ease as the sword of Gryffindor cut through Neville's shoulder. Though he wanted nothing more than to wallow in pain and cry in torment, his face didn't show anything. Pretending that he was not affected like Snape used to do was much easier than to show Negura how much he was able to hurt him.

"I've never really cared about the Prophecy," Harry said dully, "but since you brought it up, it says that I should be the one with power to vanquish the Dark Lord, not you."

"And you have that power, indeed," Negura said softly. "You used it against him and you won. Lord Voldemort, the cruel and heartless person I learned to know, stopped existing the moment he fell in love with you and I bet that it was your hand which was responsible for that. Your touch must be really something, Potter."

Harry stared at him for a moment, sickened to see the extent of Negura's knowledge.

"You know what the Prophecy says because you read all my thoughts and browsed all my memories … you _freak_," Harry said disgustedly.

"And that's all? Is that the only thing which matters you? The only reaction I get, Harry? Perhaps you didn't love him for real, or maybe you don't believe me when I say that he's dead. I'll give you a question Harry and we will see how far you came to know your lover. So, tell me boy, what was the only spell Voldemort never managed to perform?"

Harry never felt such a strong desire to kill someone. If he knew that The Killing Curse would work, he wouldn't hesitate to use it right now. But he couldn't do that. He first have to destroy the ring encased in Negura's fist. By the corner of his eyes, he noticed that Draco moved slightly. So he wasn't dead. Harry couldn't decide if he was lucky or not.

"Still nothing, Harry? So many things you'll never learn about him..."

Harry slowly raised the wand and the sword, seething in fury.

Negura just chuckled.

"It was the Patronus Charm, Harry," he said patiently as if he didn't notice the gesture. "I asked him once, when I was still in his service, how was he doing it, how was he controlling the Dementors. I asked him if that was some form of highly advanced Patronus Charm. I, of course, knew that it wasn't the case, because the person who split his soul cannot create a Patronus at all. The Dementors simply didn't attack him for his fragmented soul wasn't worth their attention."

Negura slowly paced back towards Draco, talking in a bemused voice.

"He confirmed it more or less; naturally without implying the true reason."

Harry took a deep breath. He didn't like what Negura was_ implying_.

"I would have fought him fairly today, if I weren't in such a hurry to get my precious ring back into my possession. And so it happened that Voldemort … became an obstruction."

He looked at Harry again.

"An obstruction I had to overcome as quickly as possible. And so I decided to use his weakness against him. He fell in love with you like a fool and suffered the deadly pain of remorse which - probably - healed his severely damaged soul. He became a perfect victim for _my_ allies, the Dementors, the soulless creatures like us, vampires."

Harry staggered backward finding support against the nearby bench. The heavy sword was slipping from his fingers and he let it fall and covered his face by his palm to hide his response to the torturous words. It didn't matter to him that Negura could kill him right now. A lonely tear run down to Harry's chin, followed by another one. He was no longer able to hold them inside. Anything … anything but the Dementors! Even the death would be more merciful.

Harry felt as if he was suffocating, red circles danced before his eyes, spinning in wild, crazy patterns.

"I … thought … you cared about him," he whispered throatily. "I thought you wanted to be with him FOREVER!"

"He chose you over me. He refused me, denied my merits, insulted me and humiliated me... His choice, only his choice... If I can't have him then you won't have him as well, Potter! You've taken everyone who was close to me and I will make you pay for it! Blame yourself, boy! It's only your _fault_!"

"You were the one who attacked me first, Negura!" Harry spat out furiously. "And also hurt me and my friends!"

"Yet it didn't have to be that way. Have you ever wondered why I became a politician in here? No? Let me tell you then. They can easily obtain an executive power and yet people tend to ignore them as long as they are dutiful and _boring_. And I was so boringly dutiful that even Rita Skeeter didn't even want to write about me. Believe me, everything would work out perfectly if you didn't join Voldemort and began to intrigue against me. And you joined him pretty soon, didn't you, Potter? How quickly you've forsaken your ideals so you could snuggle up with him on that _dirty, muggle bed_ in that _dirty, muggle house_! I was … _disgusted_. Trust me, none of this would have to happen if you just didn't stand in my way from the beginning."

Harry picked up the sword from the floor and slowly straightened his back.

"Don't speak about _my_ ideals, beast. I've never forsaken them. Speak about _yours_! You're the one who's killing the innocents! Why did you kill Angelina? What had she ever done to you?-! She was brave, kind and witty … and yet you murdered her for no reason! And what about hundreds of others you killed for your own, selfish, unjustified revenge?-!"

"Justice," Negura said softly, "often requires great sacrifices. It's a burden heroes have to carry along. You should know something about that, Potter."

Harry wiped his nose into his sleeve and raised his head. Negura was clearly insane. He already knew that but this was just more proof.

"Stop spewing that crap at me, Negura," he said in a low voice. "You don't even see a difference between a sacrifice and a murder. You've turned into someone you had sworn to destroy and you don't even realize that. You may have been a hero, but now you are only a monster. And I will _kill you_."

Aside from a little twitch on his nicely shaped lips, Negura didn't show any sign of displeasure.

"Will you? You're welcome to try," he whispered, bowing a little, his navy blue eyes piercing Harry's green ones. "Since you think that you can succeed where Voldemort has failed."

"I don't think he's dead. He's too strong to give up like that," Harry said quietly, warmth blossoming in his chest at those words. He had no chance to win the following duel if he couldn't believe in that. He raised Voldemort's wand and pointed at the vampire's chest. "He's the greatest wizard alive!"

Negura's mocking sneer turned into an icy grin.

"Idiot!" he chuckled, pointing his wand at him.

"_Avada Ked..."_

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Harry yelled and the wand jerked in the Leader's hand, but Negura managed to keep it with a silent counter curse. The blue eyes of Harry's enemy narrowed contemplatively.

"The tricks which worked on Voldemort won't work on me, Potter," he jeered.

"Really? They seem to work pretty well so far," Harry retorted.

"_Avada..."_

"_Expelliarmus!"_ he cried out again, forcing the vampire to protect his wand again.

Negura moved slowly aside as if he wanted to find a better position to attack him.

"How long do you think you'll be able to keep this game up, boy?" he whispered with, sneering again.

"Why do you ask? Are you tired already?" Harry snorted. "In that case I think I'll just wait for you to make a mistake."

"You won't live that long, brat!" Negura hissed back. _"Crucio!"_

Harry flicked his wand, creating a Shield Charm around himself, only to use the Disarming Charm again as Negura attempted his life for the third time.

"You'll be the one who'll make mistake first, Harry," he smirked, pacing back towards Draco. "And since you cannot hope for a reunion with Voldemort in the afterlife as his soul is being digested at the moment, you can always pray that those you betrayed by joining the Dark Lord will forgive you and welcome you back in her arms."

Harry breathed in deeply to stifle the burning pain and rage devouring his insides.

"Yes, I believe in reunion with my beloved ones when my time comes, which is something that you, Negura, cannot hope for," Harry whispered, his voice shaking, "with your half-dead soul being in shreds!"

Another flash of green light was sent at Harry and he flung himself sideways onto the ground and rolled away from the tiles exploding behind his back.

Since there was practically nowhere he could hide, he had to get back on his feet quickly and blocking the Cruciatus curse Negura sent at him right away.

"Maybe you should start regretting your evil deeds, Negura. You never know how much time you've got left," Harry said between gasps, while thinking how to break through such a strong defense. He didn't have Voldemort's power to do it by a sheer force.

The thought of Tom was more distracting than Harry expected it to be and that was all Negura needed. The next Cruciatus Curse hit Harry straight in the chest and he fell to the ground, tossing and screaming in pain.

And then it was gone and Harry expected to see the familiar green light through his half-closed eyelids. However, it didn't happen and Harry opened his eyes fully and quickly scrambled over to the sword and the wand, which lay a couple of feet away from him before finally turning to Negura. The man still stood on the same spot as before, his face a display of wonder. A silvery glow reflected upon his pale face and in his blue eyes.

Harry, realizing that the courtroom was a little too bright, looked in the direction of the light source and his chin dropped as well.

It was a snake … no it was bigger than that … much bigger than any reptile Harry had ever seen … except for one.

It was a Basilisk. That huge, moon-bright, dazzling creature, which was lazily sliding inside the courtroom as if it was an everyday occurrence, was without a question the most astonishing and frightening Patronus Harry had ever seen.

"Tom," he breathed out tearfully as he saw through the shining trunk a tall, dark, blurry figure, which was approaching them in a regal gait. He dropped his head on the cold tiles, giving himself three wonderful seconds to cry in sheer relief. Then he briskly dried his face and rose to his feet, eying his lover breathlessly.

And he wasn't the only one. Negura too seemed to be smitten by the unique sight presented to him.

"Here comes the Lord," he finally breathed out as the wizard entered the courtroom, still partly hidden behind the massive body of his Patronus.

"Impressive as always," Negura added quietly. "I wonder, Voldemort, if you are immortal again or if you simply became as intolerably persistent as Potter."

Harry heard him say his name but didn't really care about what Negura was saying or doing. The vampire could grow a third eye or leg and Harry wouldn't even notice that. His eyes were glued to Voldemort, who was glaring at his opponent over the tip of the Elder Wand.

"Tom," Harry whispered and the Dark Lord looked at him, his stern expression softening a little. And Harry gazed back, his breath halting in his throat as he inwardly rejoiced at the sight of that smooth face, gleaming red eyes and that unusual, flattened nose - the uniqueness of Voldemort's biological quintessence, or magic or whatever. There he stood and Harry wanted nothing more than kiss his beauteous creature, whose skin was like satin, whose torso was soft and comfortable and whose marvelous eyes had a power to reach the bottom of his soul.

"Excuse my belated arrival, Harry," the Dark Lord said softly. "I had to teach the Dementors why they must not snack on Lord Voldemort."

He gave a tiny jerk of his head towards the shining trunk of his Basilisk and Harry suddenly discovered why the Patronus wasn't as transparent as his own stag. With a surprised gasp Harry recognized the ragged cloaks and scabby limbs of those soul-eating monster, which were currently jam-packed in the gigantic snake's entrails.

"I'm sure they will think twice before attacking you again," Harry grinned, amused to see pure horror on the Dementors' featureless faces.

The smile on Harry's lips, however, soon vanished and he appeared fully serious as he looked at Voldemort again.

**"**_**I was really scared for you for a moment,"**_he whispered quietly in Parseltongue, his heart melting as the corner of those thin lips was lifted upwards.

**"**_**As I was for you,"**_Voldemort replied in a barely audible hiss and glanced at Harry again. _**"I assume you didn't have time to find and destroy the Horcrux yet,"**_ he changed the topic quickly, his eyes turning back to Negura.

**"**_**I only found it so far,"**_ Harry sighed. _**"It's his wife's ring and he holds it in his hand at the moment."**_

**"**_**I see," **_the Dark Lord nodded a little. _**"That will be all, Harry, thank you. Leave us now." **_

Negura was watching their secret conversation, becoming more and more disgruntled by every moment, dragging his feet pointedly to mark time.

"Are you two quite finished?" he finally said sharply. "I hope you said goodbye to each other since you won't have another chance."

Harry used the brief lack of the Leader's attention to shake his head in response to what Voldemort said before and tap the apex of the sword against the floor to indicate his intentions. The red eyes flicked to him and narrowed briefly. After a short consideration the Dark Lord nodded slightly. Then he waved his wand and his magnificent Patronus was gone as if it never existed. All what was left was a bunch of totally disoriented Dementors flying about the room like a flock of tipsy bats before finding some escape routes and disappearing in the darkness.

"It's you who's quite finished, Negura," Voldemort said coldly and flourished the Elder Wand, creating a compact ball of magical energy which encircled Negura's body. The vampire struggled to break outside and for a moment Harry thought he will be successful. The ball lost its shape and thinned before catching alight, burning the Leader's skin.

The vampire screamed and disappeared, escaping the scorching flames, only to regain a human form again a couple of feet aside.

"Tom!" Harry screamed as he saw the deadly green light rushing in Voldemort's direction, but the Dark Lord was ready.

To Harry's ultimate surprise Voldemort decided for Harry's favourite spell, which left Harry gaping at him in amazement. The curses collided between the wizards, forming a blast of red-greenish light. The magic was fizzling in the air and Harry had to shield his eyes from the blaze to see who was getting the upper hand.

And then he noticed Voldemort's troubles. The Elder Wand seemed to be slipping from his fingers, no matter how firmly he tried to hold it. Harry cursed under his breath. Watching that confirmed his worst suspicion. It meant that the Deathstick really belonged to Umbridge for all the time since she stole it from Voldemort and because Negura was the one who eventually killed her, he became the Elder Wand's true master.

Harry knew one thing for sure; he wouldn't watch Voldemort lose that fight no matter what. He was ready to interfere in their duel, regardless of the Dark Lord's protest - and he would undoubtedly do whatever would be necessary if he suddenly hadn't noticed Draco, who was slowly crawling over to the unsuspecting vampire.

It happened faster than Harry expected. Draco lunged himself on the Leader, knocking him to the floor, making Negura lose control over his magic and balance as well. The wand and the ring both slipped out of Negura's hands as his body tumbled to the ground heavily.

"That's for killing my father!" Draco spat out hatefully, clutching at Negura's feet as the vampire screamed and tried to crawl over to his precious possessions.

And Harry knew that it was his chance. He dart out of his position, raising the sword high above his head before striking. The goblin-made blade cut deep into the stone, but the ring jumped aside in the very last moment as if it could see its upcoming destruction and tried to avoid it.

"No!" Negura screeched and kicked Malfoy straight into his face, breaking his nose.

Draco's cries were interrupted by Voldemort, who attacked the vampire again, but Negura sprung from the floor with an supernatural speed and caught his weapon in time to deflect Voldemort's curse.

Harry was meanwhile busy chasing the ring all over the courtroom, trying to stab it whenever he though he had a chance. But the ring kept dodging his attempts with ease. No matter how precisely Harry aimed, it always jumped aside in the last fraction of a second, speeding away from him.

Harry stopped for a second to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body hurt and yet the damned thing kept moving faster and faster, jumping up from the floor onto the bench and then up on the another one, trying to get as far from him as possible. Harry only managed to place the Tracing Charm on it before it dropped somewhere behind the upper row of benches. Climbing upwards as quickly as he could, he was clearing the way by blasting the benches apart. His eyes were jumping from one corner to the other, trying to catch the mild bluish light which should indicate the presence of the enchanted ring.

"That way, Potter!"

Harry looked over his shoulder, seeing Malfoy pointing towards the opposite direction.

"Where is it?-! Have you seen it?-!"

"Over there, but it doesn't matter. Surely you don't think that you can destroy that thing with your pitiful … _pocketknife_," Malfoy spat out sceptically, wiping blood from his nose.

"Just … stay out of it Malfoy," Harry said curtly as he ran past him.

"And why should I when there's an easier solution?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry asked as he halted, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he considered Draco silently.

"Three years ago, the Dark Lord tortured me and Goyle for using the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. He didn't care that it was actually Crabbe who set that place on fire. He was simply furious because we had seen what happened to that diadem, Potter. I'm not stupid ... I made the connection."

"So?" Harry asked, angered and alarmed at once. "You want to use the Fiendfyre in here? Are you nuts?-! You would kill everyone in the Ministry including yourself!"

"I don't think so. Besides, spare your talks for someone who wants to listen to them, Potter. You don't know what I went through. You can't stop me!"

Harry shook his head furiously.

"Why do you think you're the only one who wants him dead, Malfoy? _You_ should stop and think for a while!" Harry spluttered out but Draco didn't listen. He pushed him away as he passed him, and a second later he was scrambling up on the top bench.

"Malfoy! WAIT!" Harry screamed, casting a Body-Bind Curse at him and … missing him by a fraction of an inch.

And then the flames exploded around him, blinding him momentarily. Harry had to cover his face to protect it from burns as he stumbled backwards.

"MALFOY! YOU IDIOT!" he roared and dove under the nearest bench, just a tiny moment before the cursed fire could devour him. The heat was overwhelming, Harry felt as if his body expelled its entire supply of liquid in a tidal wave of sweat. He crawled sideways from the growing flames like some crab, but the mutating fiery beasts kept pursuing him. Soon Harry's lungs were filled with smoke and dust and his teary and his blurry vision was making any orientation impossible.

Harry's whole body hurt, he couldn't breathe, lost the ring and had no chance to extinguish the Fiendfyre by himself. Everyone had some limit Harry feared that he just reached his own. Only the knowledge that his friends and Tom were still there somewhere, fighting and counting on him, made him open his eyes and raise the wand again.

There was no limit he wouldn't surmount to protect the lives of the people he loved.

Casting the Bubble-Head Charm (a charm he made sure never to forget again after a certain incident), he took a deep breath of the fresh air which made his thoughts turn back into focus. He remembered that there was a spell which he could use to hold back the Fiendfyre for a while. He saw Voldemort perform it when he was fighting the fire of his London's Headquarters. The Dark Lord even taught him some basics how it should be done. It was a good time to test how much he learned for he still had to destroy that goddamned ring.

Harry closed his eyes, accumulating his magic at the fingertips of his armed hand. The fiery beasts meanwhile seemed to localize the stony crevice where he was hiding and went after him, opening their chops wide to engulf him.

"No," Harry whispered, releasing the magic which made the flaming creatures roar for one last time before they turned to chase some easier pray. The fire wasn't finished by far, though. Everything was in flames, even when Harry ran down the long rows, searching for that cursed piece of silver. But how could he found a slight bluish flare among all those burning ruins, Harry didn't know.

And his magic, his only protection from the Fiendfyre, was quickly growing weaker.

xxxxx

"You can hurt me all you want, Voldemort. I don't care anymore," Negura whispered, slightly bend forward, the flesh on his abdomen and right leg torn apart. It was sickeningly white, not a single drop of blood was leaking from it.

Even Voldemort had suffered substantial injuries which were working ceaselessly on wrecking his composure. He took in a deep breath, making sure that his Occlumency shields were intact before meeting the navy blue eyes of his enemy, which were cold and empty as always, even with the flare of the Fiendfyre reflecting in them.

"The game's nearly over," Negura continued evenly. "And you cannot win."

"Still thinking that defeating me will be piece of cake for you?" the Dark Lord snorted icily, though deep inside he cursed the wand in his hand which rebelled against every curse he cast.

"Ah, Voldemort, you still fail to understand it," Negura smirked after he avoided another green flash closely. "Let me remind you one of the first things I told you when I found you and Potter half-frozen together in that demolished quarry," the vampire continued in that disturbingly calm voice.

"I said that it was really thrilling to see that my magic was still affecting you. Do you remember what I meant by that statement?" he said, while the Dark Lord limped backwards, clutching at his neck, fighting to stifle pained screams. He slid down to his knees, his long spine bending forward as his body was twitching and shaking uncontrollably.

"Yes, my bite still _hurts_, I know. Your resistance is futile. You've forgotten that you're my victim, Voldemort. No matter what you do you cannot change that fact. I could just stand here and watch you bleed dry, but I really don't have time for that."

Voldemort raised his head, his features contorted in pain, hatred and disgust.

"You … scurvy coward," he grit out through his bared teeth, while attempting to lift the Elder Wand and aim it at the vampire. "You can't even finish a duel … like a wizard..."

"Because I'm something more than that. Anyway, it's time to say goodbye, _my Lord_," Negura responded in an unaffected voice, twirling the wand in his fingers._ "_I'll miss you. Maybe."

Voldemort bore his eyes into Negura's empty ones, attempting to break through his mental barrier and share some of the agonizing pain with his tormentor. But somewhere in the middle of his concentration, he heard someone screaming his name.

"Harry," he breathed out in apprehension once he recognized the voice.

His sharp gaze scrutinized the burning courtroom in a manner of seconds and ultimately found the young man lying on the floor about twenty feet away. The radiant heat was far beyond any level of tolerance and the sight of Harry being caught in the middle of that inferno filled him with a fear similar to the one he felt when Umbridge cast the Killing Curse at him and it hit Harry instead.

Even Negura showed his first signs of discomposure as he assessed the fast progress of the destruction. Still, he turned back to Voldemort and whispered cruelly.

"It seems that your precious _boyfriend_ cast away his chance to escape and decided to die here with you instead. Maybe he really loves you after all."

Voldemort's body curled as if under the Cruciatus Curse and then a deranged scream of pain and fury escaped his hurt throat.

He brandished the Elder Wand, aiming it at Negura's heart.

Negura only smirked, raising his wand as well.

"Still trying to fight, _my Lord_? You shouldn't waste your stamina like that as you barely have anything left."

He flourished his wand elegantly to block Voldemort's Disarming Charm and his nice lips formed a sardonic smirk as he planned to reward the Dark Lord with one last, nasty curse...

xxxxx

Harry couldn't carry his weight anymore. He sank down to the heated floor, watching the quickly approaching Fiendfyre through his heavy eyelids. His mouth was parched from breathing the dry, torrid air, his skin began to blister from the heat and it hurt, hurt, _hurt_...

He lifted his head a bit, determined to resist his fatigue. A moment later his head dropped back on the floor. He was completely drained. Now he could only hope that the ring was destroyed by the fire that Tom defeated Negura that Ron managed to bring the antidote for Neville in time and that the Order, the Death Eaters and everyone here on the Ministry managed to deal with the vampires...

Maybe Tom would eventually forgive him that he didn't finish what he promised...

His eyes were already closing when he suddenly noticed it.

It was there, right in front of him.

A small, glittering object enveloped by a soft bluish light, rolling from left to right and back in desperate attempts to find a way out of the narrowing fiery cage around Harry.

Harry watched it for a moment and then his lips twitched into a bitter smile.

"There you are," he rasped, reaching for the little ring and it slipped between his fingers again.

The Horcrux apparently intended to use his magical protection to escape into safety unseen by anyone. And now it was caught here with him in this burning trap.

"You made a pretty bad choice," Harry muttered to the ring, tightening his hold on the handle of the sword of Gryffindor. "I never had any intention to run into hiding."

He moved the sword towards the ring in a just right direction, making it jump right under his waiting palm.

Harry had no time or energy to feel victorious as he curled his fingers around it. He had just enough strength left to call out Tom's name, hoping that he would hear him, and throw the ring into the wild flames. It cracked and crumbled apart almost instantly, its pained scream drowned out by the roar of the Fiendfyre.

And Harry sighed in relief and closed his eyes, waiting for the cursed fire to come and devour him at last.

xxxxx

A dazzling flash of scarlet light left the tip of Voldemort's wand and Negura was blasted off his feet. He flew backwards and smashed into the chair for the accused which shattered apart just as he hit the floor. The wand came out of his hand spinning madly before falling into gluttonous flames that have turned it to ashes in a blink of an eye.

A grave stillness had settled over the scene.

Negura staggered to his feet, gaping at his empty hands before he slowly began to grope his chest.

"W- what is it?" he whispered, terror-stricken. "Where's my magic? What happened to my magic?-!"

His breath was coming out in short gasps, and he glanced up at Voldemort, who was still clutching at the bleeding hole at a base of his throat.

Then a maniacal gleam flickered in those cold, blue eyes.

"What have you done to me?-!"

"You said you are something more than a wizard," Voldemort whispered, his lips curling into a biting sneer. "I don't think so... You're not even that … thanks to Harry."

Negura glanced at the young man captured among the flames and then back at Voldemort.

"I will kill you...," he said quietly, though his voice and hands were shaking.

"I WILL TEAR YOU APART!" he roared in mindless rage - and leaped.

Voldemort barely had time to raise the wand before their bodies collided on the hard floor and the Leader's mouth came into contact with his bloodied neck. The vampire's steel-like claws tore his robes, but they didn't hurt his skin just as the teeth didn't sink into the already damaged tissue of his neck.

Surprisingly enough, Negura raised his head slowly, a very weird expression on his face.

"Y... you...," the vampire stuttered out heavily and his widely opened eyes staring down upon his own chest as he pulled back from Voldemort.

"You didn't...," he said again, his hands making little, urgent moves as he drew apart his cloak. His clothes were ragged and Voldemort could see glimpses of Negura's pale, healed skin through the holes in them. But the Dark Lord's eyes were focused to the middle of the vampire's chest, watching the handle of the Elder Wand sticking out of it in a surrealistic manner.

Negura somehow got to his feet and stumbled backwards, still gazing at the foreign object piercing his thorax.

"Strange," he muttered, backing away towards the roaring fire. "It doesn't hurt … as much as I thought."

Voldemort gathered his remaining powers and forced himself to stand up as well.

He was just about to pursue the vampire, but some deeper urge momentarily defied his desire for the most powerful wand and he turned his head towards the place where he last saw Harry.

His boy was still there, lying on the ground, unmoving... Though the ruins partly protected him from the worst glow, nothing could stop the Fiendfyre from destroying that last obstacle.

It was going to happen any moment … _any moment..._

By the corner of his eyes he saw Negura's decomposing body dangling at the edge of that fiery hell as well, the Elder Wand, which belonged to him now, which could make him a far greater than any other wizard in history, still deeply embedded in his chest.

The Dark Lord let out a furious scream.

He couldn't have both … it was either Harry or the Elder Wand...

And he had to decide it … NOW!

_**R&R**_

_*** Parseltongue**_


	20. The greatest weapon

**Author's note: **Here comes the final chapter of The Love Accident! I hope you guys liked this story and that you had a great time reading it! It took me incredible two years to finish it (both stories) and this is my final opportunity to express my thanks for your support!

For those of you who love Harry/Voldemort pairing I have two great tips. Just find a spare minute and have a look at these two web pages:

www . youtube . com / watch?v=4dPA5BnSXdg

just 1414 . deviantart . com / art/Stay-with-me-Voldemort-280693751

I think it's awesomely done and I loved it.

Well, now back to my story. The most special thanks belong to:

**TheSecretUchiha** – for being such an amazing beta for such a long time!

And for you if you stayed with me, Tom and Harry to the end.

Rating of the chapter: **M**

**The greatest weapon**

xxxxx

_Hogwarts_

_7th January 2001, early afternoon_

Hogwarts, at this time of the year, was always exceptionally serene and peaceful. Harry recalled that as he stood in front of the large windows of the hospital ward and watched the captivating sight of a winter forest and a frozen lake in the far distance. Little snowflakes were slowly falling down from the dark skies, emphasizing that chilling, brilliant, white beauty.

_Chilling … brilliant ... white ... beauty..._

Harry sighed and glanced at the bed next to his own where Neville snored soundly.

It's been four days already; four days since the battle on the Ministry, four days since they defeated Negura and his army of vampires. During all that time Voldemort didn't attempt to contact him in any way. It hurt Harry to accept that, but he had to consider it a message as well. The Dark Lord didn't have to put in the words that they didn't need each other anymore – or, more specifically, that Voldemort didn't need him anymore. The vampires were finished and those few who escaped were chased by Aurors all over the country. The reluctant alliance between the Death Eaters and the Order was no longer necessary, which meant that Harry and his friends probably turned back into a guild of Voldemort's enemies.

Harry shook his head, chasing away that aching feeling of loneliness and disillusion. Searching for some distraction, he reached out for the newspapers laid upon his bedside table and read the blaring headline.

THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC MURDERED!

And right beneath that in smaller letters:

HARRY POTTER: THE HERO OR THE TRAITOR?

Harry skipped the text which he had read twice already and looked down at the photo in the lower right corner. It was a picture which tormented him the most for it showed exactly what he lost. Seeing himself in the Dark Lord's arms as the man carried him down the hallway of St. Mungo's only rubbed salt into his wounds. The Saviour saved by his archenemy - those were the words Rita Skeeter used to describe it – and they burned a brand in Harry's mind. Voldemort repaid his life debt, leaving nothing in between them aside Harry's improper feelings.

He sighed, folded the newspaper twice and tucked it into his back pocket. One day he will confront him about that. One day he will know for sure…

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry turned his head and saw Madam Pomfrey standing behind him, looking upset and exasperated.

"Yes?" he asked though he perfectly knew what she was going to ramble about.

"Haven't I told you to stay in the bed until I discharged you? You _need to_ rest to heal properly! Why do you think you were transferred here from the overcrowded St. Mungo's in the first place?"

"I'm all right," Harry said defensively and made room for her as she stepped closer to Neville's bedside and checked his bandages.

"Typical overexertion," she said strictly. "You only _feel _all right, but even Mr. Longbottom's wounds are healing faster than yours. I believe you remember what happened to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he decided to surpass his limits."

"Yeah, I remember," Harry whispered; his heart swelling in his chest at a mere mention of that 'name'.

"I can't force you to stay here, of course; you're old enough to be responsible for your own health. Besides," she added with a slight dissent. "Minerva told me that she would like to see you once you feel better."

"Okay," Harry nodded. "Ron and Hermione will be back any moment. They just went to grab some food. When they come we can..."

"I believe she only wants to talk to you," Madam Pomfrey said firmly.

Harry rubbed the back of his still slightly burnt nape.

"Did something bad happen?" he asked quietly.

"I am not sure," the nurse replied and turned to tend to Neville's injury again. "Though it must be something important, otherwise the Headmistress wouldn't ask me to inform you."

Harry nodded again and, with quiet thanks, left the hospital ward. Knowing the route by heart, it took him just a couple of minutes before he arrived at the tall gargoyle guarding the entrance to McGonagall's office.

"The Headmistress is expecting me," he said for he didn't know the password. Surprisingly, the gargoyle moved aside right away and allowed Harry to step on the staircase which rose in spirals until it stopped before a gleaming oak door. Harry seized the heavy brass knocker in the shape of a griffin and rapped it twice on the door.

"Come in," rang out a muffled, strict voice.

When Harry entered the circular room, McGonagall slowly rose from her seat behind the massive desk, her face a display of astonishment.

"Potter … you are here already…," she said breathlessly, but recuperated quickly enough and pointed at a chair opposite to her work table. "Take a seat, please."

"Thank you, Professor."

Harry seated himself, politely waiting for her to start speaking.

"Well, you probably wonder why I wanted to see you," she began at length while she pushed aside a stack of parchments piling in front of her.

Harry nodded, trying not to squirm under the tension he felt. He had no reason to be distressed … _yet._

"The thing is that I would like to ask you few questions, if you feel up to it. Excuse me if I'm rather insensitive," she continued, watching Harry with her unwavering gaze. "But this is a matter of a crucial importance and you are still a member of the Order."

Harry made another affirmative gesture, fully intent on _not_ looking at Dumbledore's portrait.

"As you well know, The Order of the Phoenix was founded by Professor Dumbledore who wanted to ensure security and cooperation of the people fighting against You-Know-Who," she began. "Potter, what I want you to keep in mind is that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still a threat for us. He will always be a threat."

By this point Harry already knew where her monologue headed.

"I'm not so sure, Professor. He saved us," he said resolutely, not looking away from her piercing eyes. "Voldemort saved us all. If he didn't kill Negura, we would all be probably dead by now and _you know it_."

"Yes, yes," she said quickly and Harry could sense her discomfort. "That may be true. But I'm afraid he was acting in _his_ best interest and not in ours. At the recent meeting of the Order Kingsley expressed his deep worries about the future and I must say I understand why."

"I don't know anything about Voldemort's plans, if that is what you wanted to ask me," Harry said quietly, turning his eyes down to the table. "He didn't talk to me yet - and I'm not sure if he even wants to, so..."

"What we need to know, Harry," McGonagall said and the fact that she used his name made him look at her again. "Is what are _you_ going to do if he returns to his old ways."

It took a long moment before Harry was able to breathe freely enough to speak again.

"I'll do everything in my power to prevent that. I don't think I would be able to become… his enemy again," he whispered, unable to resist a quick glance at Dumbledore's portrait behind McGonagall's back. His previous mentor and headmaster appeared to be either sleeping or deep in thoughts and that calmed Harry a bit.

"I see," someone else, however, spoke in an acid voice. "Still an exact copy of his father. _James Potter_ also liked to quit whenever he found it convenient."

Harry's head jerked up towards a dark portrait to the left from Dumbledore's and he barely held back a frustrated groan.

_Snape._

He was the very last person Harry wanted to see and talk to right now.

"I'm not quitting," he said curtly and looked back at Dumbledore, hoping that he was at least listening to him. "It's just that Voldemort saved hundreds of people from certain death. Isn't it a good reason enough to give him another chance?"

"But of course, _Potter_ wants to give the Dark Lord another chance because _Potter_ thinks that he deserves it! This is how it turns out when a mediocre, impertinent and irresponsible rule-breaker is predestined to save the world," Snape jeered.

"Severus," Dumbledore finally opened his eyes and spoke up calmly. "Unlike you, I fully believe in Harry's judgement. He has a bright mind and a good heart, just like his parents."

"Does he?" Snape hissed sourly. "And he proves it by forgiving the monster who murdered his mother? I'm sure she would be_ thrilled_ to know that."

"You don't understand ANYTHING!" Harry leapt on his feet and grasped the edge of the table firmly. He wanted nothing more than to leave now before his anger urged him to do something unwise. "There's no reason to raise your voice, Potter," McGonagall stood up as well, trying to keep the situation under control.

"Yes, indeed. We can all stay absolutely calm because Potter is here and he is the only one who understands _everything_. Our mental capacities can never reach that far," Snape continued to jeer down at Harry, who was currently contemplating what would happen if he grasped that bottle of ink by McGonagall's left hand and splashed Snape's portrait from top to bottom.

"Severus, why don't you let Harry speak and explain himself?" Dumbledore broke the tense silence with his kind voice and Harry, being diverted from his rather malevolent thoughts, looked up at the old man on the picture. He regained control of his boiling temper and shook his head a little.

"I can't explain it, Professor. It's … it's too private," he confessed quietly. Too late he realized that this statement was something Snape was waiting for. The previous Potions master caught the hand-rest of his painted armchair, leaned forward as if he was trying to step out from the frame and bared his yellow teeth maliciously. Apparently, he reached a whole new level of disagreeableness after his death.

"Once again, typical _James_," he sneered venomously, his upper lip curling in distaste. "Pathetic, unreliable," he spat out. "It doesn't matter how many people fought for him and died for him. As long as he has _his private issues_, he cannot do what everyone expects him to do…"

Harry felt his fury build up underneath his skin again, almost bursting out. Unable to tolerate that for another second, he let go of the table he was holding in order to slam his fists against its surface. Then his voice drowned out every other noise.

"You don't know anything about me, Snape! Everything's changed for me during the last few weeks! You want to know what my private issues are?-! FINE! I'll tell you that! I won't kill Voldemort because I LOVE HIM!"

Harry made a dramatic pause before raising his voice an octave.

"DO YOU GET IT NOW? I LOVE HIM! I CAN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT HURTING HIM IN ANY WAY! TELL ME, SNAPE, WHAT WOULD YOU DO, IF YOU **HAD TO** KILL THE PERSON YOU LOVE? YOU ONLY KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO BEAR A PARTIAL GUILT! I WANT TO KNOW IF YOU WOULD BE ABLE TO COPE WITH IT OR IF YOU WOULD RATHER QUIT!"

After the echo of his scream slowly faded away, an astounded silence began to spiral horribly in the office. Yet, Harry felt incredibly relieved that he finally got it out of his system. He sank back into the chair, watching the blank, shocked faces staring down at him. Snape's expression was definitely the best. He paled into an unhealthy, sallow tone and his chin slacked a bit. Harry made a mental note that seeing him like that was a satisfactory retribution for those six years of bullying. However, he also had to look at the remaining two people whose opinions he valued very much and confront their horror and disappointment.

"Well...," McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. "This is… I mean to say… _really_ _unexpected_, Potter. I don't believe you're serious about that…," she said slowly while regaining her composure. Her face gradually evened out, except of her raised eyebrow which showed her concern.

"I am absolutely serious, Professor," Harry responded quietly, feeling a bit silly for his previous outburst.

"Then forgive me for bringing this out, but you've never showed this kind of … _interest_ in men before," McGonagall said aptly, leaning backward in her chair. "Hence a good reason to think that you're under his influence…"

"That's not the case. I understand your doubts but Voldemort couldn't possibly bewitch me to fall for him since he knew nothing of love," Harry shook his head.

McGonagall squirmed in her seat, her nostrils wide and her mouth very thin.

"I see… Well, being in love is not a crime, of course, but this is really unfortunate development…" she said after a brief pause, rapping her fingers against the desk. "It's not my place to give you any advice in this matter, nevertheless I strongly recommend you to reconsider your _feelings_. It's just a question of time before You-Know-Who will try to use your emotional dependence against the Order. This makes us too vulnerable… Have you told him about this yet?"

"I … er … You are not going to ask me how could I let it happen?" Harry muttered in wonder.

"Certainly not, Mr. Potter. That is, as you correctly said, only your business. I'm merely interested in the consequences … which bring us back to the question. Have you confessed to him already?"

"Yes, I did," Harry gave a brief nod and cast a quick glance at Dumbledore who was … _beaming at him_. Harry blinked and checked the painting again, just in case he was imagining things. Nope, Dumbledore was still the picture of happiness; he even seemed to be singing to himself.

"Y-you are not mad at me, Professor?" Harry uttered haltingly; his disbelief overcoming his reason.

"Oh, dear Harry," Dumbledore smiled at him and his painted eyes twinkled a little.

"Minerva was very kind and shared her knowledge of the recent events with us. The moment I learned about what had happened in my brother's inn, I was certain that something very important was going on between you and Lord Voldemort. This only confirmed my suspicion."

"So, am I the only one who finds this situation utterly ludicrous?" Snape asked with his everlasting sneer, after finally finding his voice again. "Did we protect Potter from the Dark Lord for nearly _twenty_ _years_ only to find out that he prefers to be raped by him?-!"

Harry bore his eyes into the painted black ones and retorted.

"He didn't rape me."

"I think you deserve at least a hundred years long detention, Potter. Afterward you would _perhaps_ learn to use your brain for thinking instead of your … other organs," Snape spat back.

"Severus, I think that you have clearly forgotten how it feels to be young," Dumbledore smiled, but then his face became more serious.

"Unfortunately, Harry still didn't give us the most important information yet."

"What information, Professor?" Harry gulped nervously.

"We don't know what Tom Riddle feels towards you. How did he react to your confession?"

"He…," Harry whispered, feeling his heart drop. He paused for a moment and scratched his chin distractedly before speaking again. "Well … he said he loves me too. However, I'm not sure if he was entirely sincere due to the circumstances. He needed my help at that time."

"I see," Dumbledore nodded, watching him curiously. "And what your heart tells you, Harry? Do you think he loves you?"

Harry hesitated again. He could see by a corner of his eye that Snape was shaking his head resentfully; McGonagall was watching him with her piercing gaze and Dumbledore was still peering at him over the upper brim of his half-moon spectacles.

Harry licked his dry lips and quietly said.

"I think that he does, but he's fighting it. He's definitely afraid of it. And that is what scares me the most. I think that he is going to change his mind. Actually, I'm worried that he already did."

"Then you must not hesitate," Dumbledore said with clear urgency in his voice and leaned forward a little. "You'll find him at the Ministry of Magic. The fireplace is over there."

"Albus!" Professor McGonagall gasped, but Harry was already on his feet.

"Thank you, Professor!" he said quickly and in the next moment he stood beside the mantelpiece with his hand in the sack with Floo Powder. He threw a handful of glittering powder into the flames which turned bright green and rose up to his shoulders. Chasing away his recent dislike for this means of travelling, Harry stepped inside and called the name of his destination.

The second he was gone McGonagall sighed and slowly turned to Dumbledore's portrait.

"Care to explain, Dumbledore, what that was about?" Snape spoke up first, folding his arms over his chest.

"Harry's in love, Severus, isn't it obvious? There's no need for you to worry about him so much. This is, after all, his field of expertise. He knows what to do."

"I'm not worried for that brat!" Snape fumed and stormed away from his painting.

Professor McGonagall slowly turned her head away from the empty portrait to Dumbledore and said in a shaky voice.

"Albus, are you sure it was a wise decision to send that boy over to _him_? What if he got it wrong? What if _V-__Voldemort_ still wants to kill him?"

Dumbledore, on the contrary to her distress, appeared to be unruffled and on the verge of sleep again.

"I don't think we have to be afraid of that, Minerva. As long as Harry is using his greatest weapon, he is perfectly safe in Tom Riddle's presence. And so is everyone else."

xxxxx

_London, Ministry of Magic_

_7__th __January 2001, early afternoon_

Harry emerged from the green flames in one of the many fireplaces surrounding the Ministry's Atrium. The first thing he noticed was the severe damage this place had undergone recently. The Fiendfyre had spread up in here as well, destroying both the floor and the wooden panels on the walls. It also disrupted the enchantment on the ceiling which no longer displayed that lovely peacock blue colour. Instead, it was grey and dirty with many smudges scattered over its cracked surface. The air in the room was stiff and pungent, smelling of smoke.

Harry's eyes swept over the place again, scanning it more thoroughly. He couldn't see a single soul. The surviving Ministry workers were probably too busy making reparations in the offices of the crucial departments, or maybe they left this place in haste because of someone who scared the hell out of them … someone Harry was looking for. Mindlessly, he set out in a direction of a huge block of stones straight ahead him with an intention to climb on it to have a better view of this place, while surveying the ruins of the Fountain of Magical Brethren on the way.

And what he saw made him stop and take a better look.

In between the limbless trunk of the centaur, the headless statue of a house-elf and the tilted torso of the witch stood a massive high-backed leather chair. An artist would surely view it as a masterpiece of a surrealistic art given the unique composition and presence of the Dark Lord, who was occupying his dubious 'throne' in the middle.

Harry wasn't an artist, but he could still appreciate the sight. He stopped dead in his track, staring at him longingly for what appeared to be an infinite moment.

Voldemort hadn't noticed him yet. He was slightly slumped to one side, his head was lolled backwards, his eyes were closed and his pale hands seemed oddly empty in their wandless state. One of them lay in his lap, curled into a tight fist, while the other was loosely dangling over the arm-rest.

No one could appear more victorious and yet so defeated at once.

And Harry didn't know how to approach him.

He found himself lingering on the place where he stood, regardless of that strong pull which was drawing him closer. After a brief hesitation, he finally let out the breath he was holding and took a couple of long, resolute steps towards him. Now that he was close enough, he could see a line of awful, red blisters decorating that pale chin and running along the pale face towards the slightly hollow temple. After he noticed this injury, Harry understood that Voldemort's slack posture was mere pretence. The tense muscles under that thin, taut skin were a clear proof of that.

As if that decided something, Harry crossed the remaining distance quickly, bent down to him and attached his lips to the pair of colder ones, warming them by that contact. He didn't care if someone was watching them or if Voldemort didn't want it – kissing him was a necessity. It was like a drug and he was desperate for his dose.

The slightest relaxation and a quiet sigh was all Harry needed to feel and hear at the moment. He whispered the name which the Dark Lord used to hate so much against his lips and then captured them in another gentle kiss. When they parted slowly a few moments later, Harry was momentarily overwhelmed by the raw force of emotions blossoming in his chest.

"Harry…," Voldemort said in a whisper and opened his eyelids a little, watching him strangely before raising his hand to run his long, pale fingers through the wild mess of his black hair.

"Harry…," he repeated in a soft and chilly voice.

"Let me take you to the hospital, Tom," Harry whispered urgently, gazing into those unique _human_ eyes tinted in a red colour.

The thin lips curled up into a hint of a weak smile.

"I can heal myself, my boy."

"Then why don't you...?"

"Because I wanted this," Voldemort snorted bitterly and sat back a little. "I spent most of my life plotting wicked plans for I wanted to rule this place by force; I wanted to conquer this world… And now that I did, now that there's hardly anyone left to stop me, I don't know what made me want it so much in the first place," he said and let his head drop back against the headrest tiredly. "I've been sitting here for_ hours_, waiting to become insanely happy that I achieved what I desired and yet, there was nothing… I felt no happiness whatsoever. Nothing until you came here … and kissed me."

A new wave of shimmering warmth filled Harry's chest, making him feel dangerously lightheaded. A bit more of that and he might start singing like Dumbledore did before. In order to prevent such a disaster, he bit into his sore, dry lower lip and skimmed his fingers over that smooth pale cheek, avoiding the angry blisters. He understood now why Voldemort didn't contact him. He had to come to terms with his past first. Something like that could hardly be solved within one day or one week…

"I wonder," Tom whispered in his eerie, distant voice, "how could something that I used to despise above all become a centre of my universe while the other things which I aspired to achieve lost all significance to me…"

Harry straightened his back leisurely and gave him a small smile.

"I know how you feel. I went through something similar during past two weeks. But who says that your opinions can't change when you discover that you were wrong?" he said and his voice was teeming with the warmth. "Look, people already know who Negura was and what he intended to do. Every single wizard and witch in London should feel obliged to you for their continuing existence," Harry added and pulled out the Daily Prophet from his pocket, showing Voldemort the photo at the bottom of the first page.

"And I am among them," he smiled. "Thank you… for saving me."

The Dark Lord took only the briefest glance at the picture presented to him and turned his head sharply away as if he were deeply ashamed of what he saw. Seeing such a strong dismissive reaction, Harry quickly pushed the paper back into his pocket.

"Tom, I know that your reputation as an evil dark lord has suffered a bit, but I assure you that it's not a permanent damage," Harry hurled out nervously, watching the growing tension and anger in the Dark Lord's face. "People still fear you and just because I'm grateful..."

"Silence!" Voldemort lashed out at him suddenly and Harry shut his mouth and took a quick step backward. He felt as though a brick had slid down through his stomach and shattered his knees on the way to his feet.

"Spare me of your gratitude when you have no idea what actually happened!" the Dark Lord said icily after he got up from the chair and turned his back to Harry.

"Yeah, that's right. I don't remember much. Why don't you tell me then?" Harry responded in a quiet voice, relieved that it didn't shake as much as he feared. The callous words Voldemort spat so harshly at him hurt, but the distance he put between them was worse.

The Dark Lord stood still for quite some time, silent and contemplative, before whispering something to himself and turning his head halfway back to Harry.

"Negura knew my weaknesses well enough," he said sourly. "The Dementors would have finished me, if it weren't of you. When they attacked me I saw you dying over and over again but I knew … I knew I had to be strong enough to resist their influence. However, even the strongest willpower cannot oppose them for long. It was the fact that I wasn't able to think of myself for once that saved me in the end," he said, staring ahead at a distant wall.

"Anyway, I would hardly be able to conjure a Patronus without a memory of you. Also, no matter how it pains me to admit that, I wouldn't have defeated Negura without your assistance. I would most likely go the same way as all those idiots before me… And that's why it is inexcusable that I considered having something else instead of you at a first chance given to me. I can't even tell how much I was tempted to choose differently and yet, here you are standing and thanking me_ for that_."

Harry watched him in silence, waiting until a wave of relief washed away all his previous anxiety.

"But you picked me, Tom," he said softly. "You saved _me_ and that's what really counts and makes all the difference. I'm even more grateful now that you had decided for me instead for … whatever that other thing was."

"Come here," Voldemort responded in a quiet, but clear whisper and beckoned to him.

"Now, open your hand."

Harry did as he was told and waited until the Dark Lord emptied the content of his palm into his hand. It was a powdery, loose material, reminding Harry ash and cinders.

Actually, it _was_ ash and cinders as he realized upon a closer inspection.

Harry took the largest, most preserved piece between his fingers, trying to discern its origin. It could be some twig or …

"What is it?" he asked. "It looks like a..."

"A wand?" Voldemort finished instead of him and slowly pulled his old yew wand out of his sleeve.

"Where's … where's the Elder Wand?" Harry asked quickly, his eyes jumping from the wand in Tom's hand to his face and back. "It belongs to you, right? You're its true master now!"

"Where is it … indeed," Voldemort replied insipidly.

Harry didn't know how exactly Tom managed to answer his question without telling him anything. It was probably something in his expression that brought him to the correct conclusion. And now that he suspected the truth, Harry turned his wide eyes back to the black ash in his palm, staring at it numbly. It was beyond unthinkable … he _couldn't_ believe it … and yet…

"You … couldn't possibly choose _me_ … over the Elder…?" His voice failed to cope with that option and he left the question unfinished.

When Voldemort said nothing, Harry covered his mouth with the back of his hand and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Tom … I…," he began, but Voldemort looked at him sharply, scorching him by the ferocity of his gaze.

"You still don't understand how close I was to choosing the wand! And even though it was you I picked in the end, I was still thinking 'Maybe there is still time to go back for it. Maybe it resisted the fire'. I was fooling myself with my ridiculous hope for a miracle. But nothing is eternal and all-powerful, not even the Deathstick. I've been wasting my life on meaningless dreams…"

"There's nothing wrong about having dreams and ambitions - as long as they are not hurtful towards others," Harry said, his voice far from being steady.

"Name one of mine which wasn't hurtful towards others," the Dark Lord snorted bitterly. "But it doesn't matter anymore. It's over … for me at least," he said turning away and giving Harry an opportunity to regain his composure.

And Harry tried his best.

"So, what do you plan to do now?"

"Is it you who wants to know, or the Order?"

"Both," Harry conceded openly. "But I want to know it more - far more - than any of my friends."

"Well… It's no secret, I guess," the Dark Lord said and approached Harry slowly. "Since I decided to postpone the world domination for a while, I think I could finish the things which I wanted to do afterwards first."

Harry rubbed his nape slowly.

"Things such as...?"

"Build my _own_ house, Harry," Voldemort raised his voice a little. "Finish that book of spells I've been writing for … thirty years?"

"That sounds awesome," Harry smiled with relief, "but what about your Death Eaters?"

"Oh, them… I'm keeping them busy, no need to worry."

The momentary easement Harry experienced was quickly replaced with a feeling of an impending doom.

"Meaning you assigned them some important mission or something like that?"

"A very important mission, indeed," Voldemort replied sharply. "They were ordered to save the British pureblood wizarding line. As the heir of Salazar Slytherin I am bound to protect it as well as to ensure its continuation."

"Wait… Does it mean…? Did you tell them to find themselves a pureblood mate and have kids?" Harry said, incredulous, before bursting out in a wild laughter, which even Voldemort's glare failed to quench.

"As a matter of fact, it does. And curiously enough, the older ones were much happier about it than the youth. Especially Draco Malfoy and Charis Bletchley appeared to be in a severe shock when I informed them of my decision."

That note made Harry howl in laughter again.

"I wish I could see it!" he grinned, wiping tears from his eyes. "But … it's good to know that he made it; I mean that Draco survived the fire as well."

"He may not be the bravest, but he is reasonably resourceful. Moreover, I suspect that Narcissa was there to help him again," the Dark Lord said in a detached tone and Harry could tell just from the way Voldemort said those words that something was bothering him again.

"Tom," he said and his amusement withered away once he came over to him and squeezed his frail, bony fingers in his warm palm.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

Voldemort look at him directly and although his eyes were blank and unreadable, Harry could somehow feel his deep, inner turmoil.

"I cannot order you to do the same," he said dully.

"Order me to do what?" Harry asked, growing cautious.

"To find yourself a pureblood mate and have a child with her. But you should do it. After all the things you've been through, you deserve to be happy."

Harry slowly let go of his hand.

"And what makes you think that this is what I dream about?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Having a family? I'm sure you do. Haven't you always wanted to live a _normal_ life?"

A heavy silence fell between them, but Harry refused to leave it that way.

"Yeah, I did want that but that was before I was able to accept that I am different; before I could see that normality and happiness don't necessarily go hand in hand."

Voldemort said nothing and Harry knew that he didn't convince him by far.

"Fine, pureblood mate you say," he muttered and sighed. "I wonder - would you find a half-blood acceptable as well?"

The corners of Voldemort's thin lips dropped dramatically and he turned away from Harry so he couldn't see into his face.

"Do you have someone specific on your mind?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, trying not to sound too cheerful.

"Is she at least talented and clever?" the Dark Lord asked coldly, still facing away.

"Very much," Harry nodded.

"And … do you like her?"

"More than I can say," Harry nodded again, watching the older man's spine curve as if he just placed a heavy burden on his back. When the wizard didn't ask further questions, Harry took it as a sign that he could continue. He knew what was going through Voldemort's head even without the ability to read his thoughts this time.

"Honestly," Harry said, unable to hide his grin anymore, "my dreamt-of mate has everything I ever wanted to have in my partner. The only problem is that we cannot have kids since he is not … a woman."

"He is not…," Voldemort hissed acidly before he visibly froze. "A woman?" he finished, turning his head to contemplate Harry in a blank amazement.

"That's right. A-also, I'm not sure if my dreamt-of mate wants to be with me, because he never really told me," Harry hurled out quickly, cursing himself for sounding so insecure. "And I'm rather of tired of guessing…"

The Dark Lord opened his mouth and then closed it, being at loss of words for once.

"Potter…," he finally whispered. "Do I understand it correctly that you just _refused_ a chance to leave me without any punishment?"

"Yes I did and I swear I'll do it whenever you dare to suggest such nonsense again."

"Moreover," Voldemort continued, ignoring Harry's words, "you _fear_ that_ I_ don't want to be with you?-!"

"Of course I do! You are the one telling me to go my merry way with someone else," Harry snapped and crossed his arms over his chest. "What am I supposed to think?"

"_You are a fool, Harry,"_ Tom hissed softly, deeply appeased, his eyes shining in happiness like two crimson gems, but Harry barely noticed that in his righteous anger.

"Oh, really?" he snorted. "I am not the one lying to myself; I am not the one denying my feelings! But, on the second thought, maybe I am a bit foolish because I love you while you're afraid…"

"_My fool…"_

The kiss was sweet and inescapable as Voldemort caught Harry's face in his cool, long fingers and Harry responded to that with fierce passion, all his previous rambling forgotten.

"Does it mean that…," he began when they momentarily broke apart but the cool mouth muffled his words again.

"Yes, stay with me. I want you to live with me, Harry Potter. I insist," Voldemort said, his lips tracing the edge of Harry's jaw up to his ear.

"I'll come for you tomorrow at nightfall," the Dark Lord whispered suddenly, then took a long, swiping step backward and with a swish of his robes he disappeared right before Harry's eyes.

"TOM! Wait!" he yelped after him, but Voldemort was already gone.

"You will _come for me_…" Harry muttered, staring at the empty spot, shaken, trying to find some reassurance in those words. Soon afterward, however, a new image appeared in his thoughts. He saw the two of them kissing, hugging, whispering, undressing, caressing, rubbing, licking, sucking and rolling around together before Harry made him _come for him_ really hard…

"Ah," he groaned and closed his eyes, blushing fiercely, "why am I becoming so perverted?"

xxxxx

_The Burrow_

_8__th __January 2001, 16:55_

"Harry, aren't you taking your indulgence in strong and independent personalities a little to an extreme?" George said, observing Harry's furious packing with an uplift eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" Harry said distractedly, while trying to squeeze another pair of threadbare jeans into his already overflowing old trunk.

"You are moving to live with You-Know-Who. Which means that you're either a positive masochist or an absolute masochist," George grinned.

"Very funny, George," Harry rolled his eyes and threw another jumper onto the growing heap.

"Ron," he called over his shoulder then and looked at his best friend who was rummaging for something in his dusty old bag. "Haven't you seen that dark green T-shirt of mine? I'm sure I left it somewhere here before we went for a lunch."

"Uh … I think mom took it. She's doing the laundry. You should have it back in a moment though; she knows a couple of cool drying spells," Ron replied, while trying to reach the bottom of his bag.

"She didn't have to do it," Harry said, but deep inside he truly appreciated that at least some of his clothes wouldn't, you know, _smell_.

"No, _you_ don't have to do it, Harry," Ron corrected him and glowered at an old, broken Sneakoscope he found. "You don't have to leave us. You can still change your mind – and you should. I would like _totally_ understand that."

"Ron," Harry sighed. "I'm not changing my mind."

"I honestly still don't get it," Ron shook his head. "It's beyond my comprehension."

"That's why you have Hermione," George butted in, smirking and patting his brother's shoulder. "She's clever, she can explain you things. I've noticed some time ago that people tend to find themselves complementary counterparts. And you're a good example of that, Ron."

"Shut it! Hermione's not only clever; she's awesome in every aspect!" Ron spluttered out.

"A great counterpart to you, just as I said! Which makes me wonder what exactly Harry is missing that he ended up with You-Know-Who," George grinned.

"Cruelty? Insanity? A bit of evilness perhaps?" Ron suggested, making Harry roll his eyes again.

"Oh no, that's not how it works for guys," George shook his head. "There must be another reason... And since we are all guys here, we can openly say that we are mostly interested only in one thing, right Harry?"

"Meaning you suspect me of having small equipment and therefore you think I need to make it up for my short length with a _complementary_ partner," Harry said coolly while stacking his socks into the corner of the trunk.

"Did I get it right?" George chuckled, while Ron produced a funny, strangled sound, staring at Harry in horror.

"No, you didn't," Harry snorted in amusement.

"So … you are actually bigger then You-Know-Who?-!" George gasped in a faked shock.

"Hey! I-I'm not saying such a thing! It's not that he would let me measure him or anything … why the hell are you asking me these questions anyway?"

"_You've seen IT already?-!"_ Ron, who finally managed to find his breath, yelped at the top of his lungs. "You have seen You-Know-Who's… Oh, sweet Merlin! Get that picture out of my head!" he screamed, fluttering his hands in the air as he galloped out of the room.

Harry, watching his fleeting best friend, shook his head in resignation and turned to Ron's older brother.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" he sighed.

"He deserved it for making fun of me."

"And why would Ron make fun of you?"

"Well, clearly because I'm currently going out with a lovely young Auror. Her name is Charis Bletchley."

Harry dropped the socks he was holding.

"_Charis!_ But she's a..."

"Yeah, a Death Eater as well. I know _that _by the way. We fought against the vampires together and she searched me out later on and told me that she's in a desperate need of a boyfriend. Well, I decided I could solve her problem."

"That's … cool," Harry coughed out, before forcing a totally false smile on his lips. Only when George was finally out of the earshot, he muttered for himself. "I bet you don't know why she was so desperate."

But Harry was careful not to mention anything before him. He was glad that George was finally able to get Angelina out of his head, even if it should be for a moment.

Harry was about to finish loading his overflowing baggage when Molly brought him the rest of his washed and dried clothes and invited him tearfully to join them downstairs. Harry thanked her, stuffed the remaining garments into his trunk and closed it with some difficulties, trying hard not to pay attention to Molly's tormented expressions. It made him feel unnecessarily queasy. Partly it was also due to his sudden, unwanted realization that he was really going to live with his previous archenemy, with the man who tried to murder him so many times that he stopped counting that. From that point of view it was easy to understand that most of his friends thought that he didn't want to leave them and that he merely pretended otherwise like some noble martyr who agreed to become Voldemort's sexual slave in order to keep his murderous quirks in check.

Among the very few ones who guessed that this wasn't the case were Hermione and Luna Lovegood who didn't find Harry's decision surprising in the slightest. Luna was also probably the only one who could accept that Harry was in love with Voldemort without any objections.

The rest of them presented … well, a problem.

When Harry placed his large trunk beside the door, Mrs Weasley made a deep, anguished sound, wiping her eyes and nose into a large napkin.

"Harry," she whispered, taking his hand into hers and squeezing it in a motherly gesture. "Just say one word and we will protect you, we will fight for you - we will not let him seize you."

"Eh… Thank you, Mrs Weasley, but that really won't be necessary," Harry repeated for what seemed to him like one hundred times and politely extracted himself from Molly's clutch and rushed over to Hermione, who kept her nose stuck in one of her beloved books.

"Ron's still mad at me?" he asked as he sat down beside her and she just shrugged her shoulders and cast a quick glance at Bill, who was staring out of the window, looking out for Voldemort probably. Harry who noticed it as well and had to fought down the temptation to tell him that Tom was going to knock on the door like everyone else. He bit into his tongue and rather said.

"How's Fleur, Bill?"

"Oh, she's all right," Bill replied distractedly, twirling his wand between his fingers in a nervous manner.

"I'm glad for that but … shouldn't you be with her by now?"

"Yes, but I promised Kingsley to stay here instead of him since he couldn't come."

"Voldemort is not going to attack anyone," Harry said evenly, but Bill only shook his head.

"Hermione, what do you think?" Harry sighed, turning to her.

"That wouldn't make any sense if he did," she agreed, raising her eyes from the book. "I'm sure you'll be fine, Harry. Besides, you are coming back to us tomorrow, aren't you? You wanted to buy yourself a new wand, right?"

"Yeas, I want that for sure, but lately I was thinking that maybe I'll be going with Tom. I think it would be rather impolite of me if I left him so soon, even should it be for a day or so."

"Meaning that you won't be returning to us tomorrow?"

Harry turned his head to look at Ron standing by the entrance to the kitchen. His best friend appeared to be very nervous and hiding something behind his back. Harry smirked at the guilty expression plastered on his best friend's face.

"A day after tomorrow at earliest," Harry nodded slowly.

"I see… Well … err… Can I show you something … over there?" Ron said nervously and pointed his thumb behind his shoulder. "It will be just a moment."

"Sure," Harry shrugged and followed him to the kitchen, curious to discover what was on Ron's mind.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, watching the ginger check twice that no one followed them.

"Look," Ron whispered, turning to him with a suspiciously big grin on his face. "I found this among father's stuff. You know – among the things he collects from Muggles. It surprised me at first, but hey, it's not that bad at all. Just look at this. What do you think about them?"

Harry glanced down at a magazine Ron was handing to him and once he saw a picture of a naked girl on the cover, he immediately understood what was going on.

"Ron, I don't think…," he began hesitantly.

"No, don't say a word! Just look at them. Go through it page after page and look at them all. They are so gorgeous – I mean Hermione is ten times better than any of these girls, but still, they are lovely, aren't they? Oh … do you see that sweet little blond over here, Harry? Look at her bright smile! There are dozens of girls like her out there; you just have to go and pick one of them! Any of them is a goddess of beauty compared to that snaky, creepy, noseless _guy_!"

"Ron…," Harry said, meeting his best friend's eyes squarely. Obviously, the last time they had a discussion on this topic, his best friend wasn't paying much attention.

"Harry, I know I said that whoever you choose will be fine with me," the ginger said, "but I want you to be happy and I know…"

"What do you know, Ron?"

"That you can never achieve that with You-Know-Who."

"Are you sure?" Harry said and pointed his finger at the undressed girl. "Do you think that she would jump for me into the Fiendfyre, without any knowledge if she could survive it or not? Honestly, if someone told me a month ago that Voldemort's going to do that for me, I would call them crazy and arrange them an appointment with some famous psychiatrist. Which only shows how little I knew him; I was only interested in how far he was willing to go to ensure his eternal life and how many people he killed. He was the very last person I considered being able to endanger himself in order to help someone else. And look at me now, Ron. I'm only here because he leapt into the flames to save _me_ with no wand in his hand to protect him! He could only count on his magic to do the trick for the briefest moment! If the wand I was holding was gone already, he would _die_, Ron! Can you see now, that he's not the same person as he used to be? If you cannot accept that I'm in love with him, please try to accept this, because it's a _fact_. And concerning all these girls you showed me, they may be nice and all, but, frankly, I've always preferred … you know - more boyish types…"

Only when Harry stopped his fervent speech, he realized that Ron was blushing like a beetroot.

"Well," he coughed to clear his throat, "you may be right about You-Know-Who, but what about Ginny? You said you loved her! And she was pretty and girlish, wasn't she?"

"She grew up with _six_ brothers, Ron. Do you really think that it didn't affect her personality at all?" Harry said with a small smile.

"Oh … eh … well … and Cho?"

"I admired her for being an awesome Quiddich player at first."

"Huh … seriously?"

"Yes."

"So you've really always been like this? Why didn't you tell me anything?" Ron mumbled, aggrieved.

"Ron, I didn't know it myself," Harry sighed quietly. "Being raised by the Dursleys, who considered everything out of their range of 'normality' as a serious crime, left its impact on me. Imagine that I refused to believe Hagrid when he told me that I was a wizard! In my opinion, this is something very similar. I think I was subconsciously refusing any further possible _queerness_ – as Vernon would enjoy calling it – about me. Fortunately, I'm old enough now to fully accept who I am."

Ron scratched his ear hesitantly and when he glanced at Harry again, he gave him a sheepish grin and nodded a little.

"So," he muttered a moment later, looking out of the kitchen window at the darkened sky, "you're really not afraid? Cause if it were me, I'd be dying in terror by now."

"Oh … to tell the truth, I am a bit scared, Ron," Harry said, gazing outside as well, searching for the first star. "I'm scared that he won't come."

Ron sniggered and Harry joined after a short hesitation.

"It's silly of me, I know. Which is typical for everyone who's in love, right?" he added and to his huge relief, he finally saw a deep understanding flicker in his friend's blue eyes.

"I still think that you're _a way_ too good for him," Ron said, "but if you really think that he's the one … all right. I'll be happy for you too."

"Thanks, Ron."

"Just please, don't tell Hermione about this," he said and pointed at the magazine.

Unfortunately, before Harry could do as much as to agree, Hermione burst into the kitchen in a rocket speed and quickly said.

"Harry, I came to tell you that…," she paused as her eyes located the object in Ron's hand.

"What is that?" she whispered, her voice bubbling like an acid.

Meeting her deadly glare, Ron stumbled backward a bit, his face taking on an unhealthy greyish tone.

"This…?" he uttered. "N-nothing. This belongs to Harry, right?"

Though Harry nodded quickly and reached out to take the magazine from Ron, Hermione pursed her lips in distaste, her cheeks turning crimson with indignation.

"_Very likely_…," she hissed, seething with anger.

Ron, seeing that his strategy didn't work out as he planned, tried a different approach.

"I- I just thought that it was worth a try to see if Harry wouldn't change his mind about not being straight anymore. I thought that once he saw this…"

"You thought that his sexual orientation would change by a miracle? Don't make me laugh! Besides, I bet you suffered a lot when you _had to_ buy this for him!"

Harry, seeing Ron quickly running out of arguments, decided that it was time to act.

"Hermione, maybe you should know that Ron told me just a moment ago that you are ten times more gorgeous than any of these girls," he said.

Hermione's red-hot anger deflated almost instantly. She looked at Harry in surprise and then back at Ron, incredulous.

"You … you really said that?" she breathed out and Ron, whose face obtained the colour of his hair, nodded shyly. Harry, feeling that it was the right moment to leave his two best friends alone, backed away towards the living room, where he collided with Arthur and his wife, who were on the contrary hurrying into the kitchen.

"Harry," Arthur spoke, his face ashen, "Harry … he is here."

Silence fell in over the kitchen, heavy and stifling. Everyone turned to look at him in fear and expectation.

"Well," Harry staggered and attempted a weak smile, scratching his smoothly shaved chin. "I shouldn't keep him waiting then."

He walked over to the chair where he left his jacket and put it on, fumbling with the zipper for a minute. He was pointedly aware of all the fixed stares upon him and tried to appear as a calm as possible. There was no need to make this any worse by falling into some frantic frenzy. But as he seized the handle of his heavy trunk and turned towards the front door, his nervous turmoil momentarily overruled everything else. Some persistently rational part of his brain warned him that he and Voldemort had very little in common when it came to many aspects of their lives. And yet his every dream and desire told him that he loved Tom and that he wanted to have him … that he needed to have him. There was no turning back. Harry instinctively closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath. He knew that it was mostly just a fear of unknown what was undermining his resolution. And he could face that – he learned how to defy his fears many years ago.

"See you on Tuesday," he said quietly, hating to say them good-bye, even though he knew he will see them soon again.

"Harry … I want you to have this."

It was Molly who came over to him when Harry wasn't looking and handed him her own wand.

"Please, take it."

"I can't accept that Mrs. Weasley," Harry whispered. "Besides, I'm going to buy myself another one tomorrow."

"Harry…"

"He won't hurt me, if that is what's bothering you," Harry said firmly.

"If he does," she said and her eyes narrowed. "I'll kill him. I'll do it, you have my word."

"And if we don't receive an owl from you by tomorrow, we're going to find you and save you," Bill added before Harry could respond to what Mrs Weasley said.

"And no army of Inferi is going to stop us," Ron joined in.

"So don't forget about writing to us … no matter how _distracted_ you might be," Hermione gave him a small smile.

Harry, returning her grin, nodded firmly and after one last glance over the faces of his friends he turned around, opened the door and stepped outside into the darkness.

The air was bitingly cold and as he exhaled a dense cloud of mist came out of his mouth. Harry shivered and looked around blindly, waiting for his eyes to accommodate to the gloom.

And there _he_ stood.

Harry's half-filled lungs emptied in one distraught, needy wheeze.

Voldemort's tall, gaunt figure was much darker than the surroundings, but the pallor of his skin was shining through the dimness, reflecting the scattered light coming from the Burrow. The red eyes were on his face, the flattened, serpentine face turned to him, always the same and yet so different. Gone were his everlasting sneer and glower and the obvious lack of any malicious expression made him appear welcoming, pleasant even.

Harry could feel Voldemort's silent scrutiny, knowing that the wizard was searching for any signs that he might be an impostor. The next moment, however, the Dark Lord slowly extended his long arm towards him, beckoning to him. Harry shifted his weight on his feet and after the briefest hesitation he walked down the stairs to the front yard and took those long, icy cold fingers into his palm. He only hoped that Voldemort wouldn't notice the slight tremor in his hand.

"I was worried that you wouldn't come, Tom," he said in a whisper, watching Voldemort who stared back so intently that it appeared that he wanted to devour Harry with his eyes.

"What a silly presumption," he said softly. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"Good. Follow me."

Once he turned away, leading the way outside the wards, Harry noticed a thin layer of snow on top of his black robes and cape. It made him wonder how far Voldemort wanted to Apparate them since the sky above was cloudless and full of stars.

"They think you're irrational," Voldemort said as they halted outside the hedge surrounding the Burrow. "I was certain they would convince you to stay with them."

"Really? Have you planned to abduct me?" Harry chuckled. "If yes, it was quite unnecessary as you can see. The Order would only have a chance to convince me to stay if we were heading for Malfoy Manor – which I hope we are not."

"I don't live there anymore," Voldemort said shortly and flicked his wand in the air, decreasing the size and weight of Harry's trunk. Then he extended his forearm, searching Harry's face for traces of doubts.

"Great to hear that. Wherever else should be fine with me," Harry said but instead of taking the offered hand he wound his arm around Tom's waist and aimed his lips at the pale ones which were now just inches above his own.

"Stop it! Aren't you aware that your friends are probably watching us?" Voldemort hissed icily once he realized what Harry attempted to do.

"And?" Harry grinned widely. "They all know how I feel about you."

And Harry proceeded, having lots of fun watching his uptight lover accept that 'public' display of his feelings. But the kiss itself was sweet and warm and Harry soon forgot all about the Order, wishing to receive more than this soft, gliding touch of lips against lips.

"I think … we can go now," he said urgently and took a firm hold of Voldemort's hand.

The intense red eyes found Harry's bright green ones and the next moment a heavy darkness enveloped them. Harry tightened his grasp on the bony palm so it couldn't slip away, waiting until the pressure on his body was gone completely. They arrived to their destination with a loud crack and a whirlwind of snowflakes. Harry hastily looked around, seeing just a dark, snowy trail among low bushes, hearing a distant sea and feeling a cold wind in his hair.

"We're not in Axminster," he said and the Dark Lord confirmed that with a quiet snort.

"Everything the vampires discovered about me represents potentially accessible information for the Aurors. I'm not returning to that place if not absolutely necessary."

"The Auror's…" Harry began, but Voldemort stopped him.

"Aren't my enemies any longer? Harry, we both know that it's not true."

"They aren't trying to kill you anymore," Harry opposed.

"Is that so?" Voldemort said, watching Harry speculatively. "And why should I care? As if I am afraid of them," he added aloofly.

"I didn't say you are," Harry shrugged his shoulders, before rubbing his cooling arms to keep them warm. "It's the other way around in fact."

"Oh yes, of course. Everyone's scared of me… Everyone except of you, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Child of Fortune, my destiny, my demise, my…"

He took Harry's face into his chilly palms but stopped his descent upon his lips an inch from the target.

"Love," Harry breathed out and closed the distance.

Voldemort accepted it without another word. Then he took Harry's hand into his and led him briskly down the trail towards the high cliffs under which a wild sea was rolling in waves.

Harry, growing curious and impatient, was searching the darkness for outlines of some building on the shore. However, there was none. Even the overgrown trail began to disappear among spiky boulders and slimy, snowy old grass.

Harry's curiosity was replaced with apprehension when they reached the end of the pathway. Ahead was only the abyss with the cold, raging sea deep down below.

"Tom… We are not going to jump down there, are we?" he asked hopefully, keeping his voice as steady as possible. This unnerving sight reminded him his last adventure with Dumbledore and if Harry wasn't absolutely convinced about Voldemort's current fierce dislike of the caverns he would think that Tom decided to pick one as his residence. Harry couldn't imagine himself pretending that he appreciated that.

The Dark Lord, still a step ahead of Harry, plainly ignored his hesitation and didn't even slow down his pace. He made it to the edge of a cliff and took a resolute step into nothingness. Just as Harry opened his mouth to cry out a warning, Tom suddenly disappeared, towing Harry behind him.

And Harry stumbled, expecting to fall down from the cliff – only to realize that he still had a solid ground under his feet by a miracle. He looked up and gasped in amazement. He could see Voldemort again, but what was equally fascinating to him was the rocky headland before him, which wasn't there before.

This had to be a Disillusionment Charm of an epic proportion, far from anything Harry had ever seen before.

"Incredible," he whispered and let go of Tom's hand so he could take several steps back and recheck what he saw. Indeed, once he got outside the range of the Charm, there was only the sea and cloudy sky ahead of him.

Feeling distinct dizziness at that sight, Harry made a step forward, passing the Charm's border again and the headland was back together with Tom.

"This is … incredible," Harry repeated breathlessly. "I was taught that the Disillusionment Charm is used for cloaks, persons or houses at most … but to see it applied to a square _mile _of a mainland…"

"I value my privacy," Voldemort said smugly, Harry's amazement clearly stroking his ego. He reached for his hand again. "Anyone but you is not welcomed here."

"I feel honoured," Harry said quietly the first thing he could think about.

"As you should," Voldemort nodded, leading him down from the sheer slope towards a building in close distance. "No one knows about this place, Harry. No one, aside you and me."

"But whose is that house?" Harry asked pointing at the dark habitation before them.

"Mine, of course," Voldemort said, sounding slightly perplexed.

"But I thought that you wanted to _build_ one!" Harry shook his head, equally confused. "You said that to me yesterday!"

"And what do you think I've been doing ever since?"

Harry stopped dead in his track again, staring at Tom numbly.

"Sorry, but … that is _impossible_!"

Voldemort smiled at him, baring his white, slightly pointed teeth.

"Your astonishment is so flattering, Harry… Pity I can't say I built it from scratch overnight, which, by the way, wouldn't be impossible for me. Nevertheless, the construction which you see was finished centuries ago. I was merely making it habitable last night. It's still far from being perfect, but it already provides some basic comfort."

Tom made a couple of steps forward, but Harry held his stance, thinking.

"Did that house belong to the Gaunts?" he asked and this time it was Voldemort's turn to halt in consternation.

"How can you know that?" he whispered, barely hiding his surprise and suspicion.

"Well … you said that the building is hundreds years old – and yet it belongs to you. I don't know much about the history of Salazar's descendants, but I've heard they used to be rich and famous. It was the lack of discretion and sobriety that left them in deep poverty."

Voldemort's red eyes softened a bit and his lips curled up a little.

"Of course, I'd nearly forgotten your supreme deduction abilities."

He waited for Harry to catch up with him and as they walked down the trail side by side, Voldemort told him more about the house's history.

"This mansion indeed belonged to my ancestors who had to sell it in order to deal with a bad financial situation at the beginning of the sixteen century," he said. "None of the new occupants stayed long though. There was a legend which said that the house was cursed for those who weren't welcomed by the Gaunt's family members."

"The house is cursed? How?" Harry asked nervously, gazing at the huge castle-like mansion which grew before them as they approached it.

"If my information source is correct, the first owners after the Gaunts died within a year. There were … some unpleasant _accidents_. When a similar fate met the next two families that owned this house, they left it in haste and since they couldn't find another buyer, the mansion began to fall into decay and oblivion. I was lucky when I discovered a brief mention about its approximate location in one old chronicle. It was just a ruin when I found it twenty-eight years ago."

"I must say that its fate reminds me of the Riddle House," Harry said quietly once they halted in front of the main entrance. "Which brings me to a question … why didn't you come here after you returned from Albania? Why did you live in a house which belonged to your muggle relatives when you didn't have to?"

Voldemort brushed off the snow from his shoulders and glanced at him shortly.

"First of all, I didn't trust Pettigrew, Harry. He was the worst kind of a coward I've ever met. How did he end up in Gryffindor, I have no idea. I would never take him here, to my own personal hideout, since he wouldn't mind betraying me at the first opportunity to assure his subsequent safety. That's also one of the reasons why I never showed this place to any of my Death Eaters. I lacked the time … and trust. The other reason I had was…," he paused and looked at the massive oak door, "…the inevitability. I had to go back to Little Hangleton to retrieve something from my father's grave - and I'm certain that you remember what it was. I could move somewhere else after I obtained what I needed but it would be rather impractical since I was easily exhausted by a simple travelling at that time."

"Yeah, I get it," Harry nodded, watching the massive stony walls, thinking whether he shouldn't re-evaluate his opinion on Malfoy Manor which wasn't _cursed_ at least.

This couldn't go unnoticed by the master of Legilimency who was watching him.

"You have no reason to worry about your safety, Harry, for you are welcomed here. I may value my privacy, but I cherish your presence much more than that," Voldemort said. "Besides, the curse most likely faded away together with the original mansion."

And then he touched the huge silver doorknob in a shape of a snake, which slightly reminded Harry the one from the Axminster Manor.

"_Open,"_ Voldemort hissed softly and the door obeyed instantly.

As it would suit well for the haunted house, Harry expected to see a cold, dark and spooky room illuminated by candlelight at best. Therefore, he was rather shocked when a warm air surrounded him once he stepped over the doorsill.

Harry instantly relaxed, sucking in the homely atmosphere which vaguely reminded him of Hogwarts, and briefly looked around over the circular foyer with a dominant fireplace in the back of the room producing light and heat. The furniture, which considered of a table and four armchairs, some cabinets and a lounge chair, was old, but clean and perfectly maintained. He, however, barely noticed that the massive walls which were covered by beautiful, richly decorated tapestries and portraits for his eyes were already glued to Voldemort who led him towards a marble staircase which spiralled upwards to the rest of the house.

"This way, Harry," Voldemort said and turned to him. "I'll show you to your bedroom. Dinner will be served soon,"

"Dinner?" Harry wondered. "May I ask who's cooking?"

"The house-elves, of course."

"Ah, right," Harry muttered, deciding not to ask about the number or origin of those house-elves yet. He would have time for that later.

Right now his thoughts returned to the Dark Lord himself.

Under the proper illumination Harry finally noticed that Voldemort had healed his injuries. There was no longer a single mark or scar on his face. The less pleasant thing was, however, a sudden change in his mood. He sank into a silence, keeping a distance from him. If Harry didn't know better he would think that Tom decided to avoid his proximity for some inexplicable reason.

"This is your bedroom. You are free to adjust it according to your demands," Voldemort said suddenly, waking Harry from his thoughts.

_Your bedroom, _Harry thought with slight disappointment. _Not our bedroom._

It was perfect of course, Harry couldn't hope for anything better. The feeling of being back at Hogwarts returned as the place reminded Harry both the Gryffindor common room and the dormitory in the tower. Voldemort apparently wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible, which was, however, in direct contradiction to his current behaviour.

"It's awesome," Harry said in all honesty and dropped his trunk beside the bed. Then he let his hand slide down the deep red velvet curtains, caressing the soft cloth with his fingertips. He unzipped his jacket and shed it down his shoulders, wishing he had some idea how to act seductively without being inappropriate or even vulgar. Because one thing was obvious to him; he will have to make some serious effort should his dreams of passionate sex with Tom become a reality tonight.

"But I'm sure I would like your bedroom even better," he said, testing the waters while keeping an eye contact with him.

"When you have unpacked your belongings, join me downstairs for a dinner," the older man said as if he didn't hear or see anything. With another flick of his wand Harry's trunk reached its original proportions and Voldemort turned to leave him alone.

"Wait!" Harry called out after him, feeling angry and frustrated.

"I'll go with you. It'll be just a moment," he said quickly as he undid the clasps on his luggage and scooped up the pile of his clothes, placing it into the nearest armchair.

"This is all you have?" Voldemort asked with curiosity and to Harry's surprise he approached him, examining the youngster's modest assets.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, staring into his half-empty trunk. "You're not the only one who lost the most precious possessions. The Invisibility cloak I had inherited from my father is gone and so is Firebolt – a gift from my godfather. And I shouldn't forget my old holly wand…"

Harry, remembering the fateful night when it was split in half, sighed again. It seemed to be so long ago and yet his memories were still fresh and painful.

"You should have hidden your Horcruxes here," he said with a bitter chuckle. "I would hardly find them since no one, not even Dumbledore, knew about this place."

"I planned to use this as a hiding place for the last one."

Harry turned his head to him and he realized that the Dark Lord stood right behind him, looking over his shoulder into his trunk.

"The last one?" Harry whispered. "You mean Nagini?"

"No. She was merely … an alternative solution," Voldemort said emotionlessly, refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

"Then you've got to be talking about the Horcrux you intended to create after killing me in Godric's Hollow when I was an infant," Harry said quietly.

The red eyes flickered to him for an instant.

"Did Dumbledore tell you that?"

"Yes," Harry shrugged.

"And yet you don't mind being here right now," Voldemort whispered, his voice very quiet but still clear.

"I wouldn't be here _at all_, if it weren't of you, Tom," Harry pointed out more loudly than he intended.

"That's questionable," the Dark Lord mused aloud. "If my mother died before giving me birth, I would never endanger your life."

"If you weren't born, Tom," Harry interjected, "I don't think I would have been either. I'm sure my mother would have married Snape and they would've had a heap of hook-nosed, greasy-haired, irritable kids."

Voldemort smirked at that and Harry finally felt him relax a bit. It was funny because it didn't happen often that he won a fight of arguments over the Dark Lord without making him mad. On the other hand, Harry quite understood why Tom gladly lost this particular exchange of views. And so he smiled back.

"I wonder … is that the holly wand?" Voldemort said all of a sudden and his eyes returned to a small package at the very bottom of Harry's trunk. Harry followed the direction of his gaze and realized that the cloth which was wrapped around his old broken wand loosened to the point that the handle of the wand slipped out.

"Yeah," Harry murmured and felt his good spirits melt away as he pulled the two barely connected pieces out of its wrapping. "You know, if I ever managed to lay my hand on the Elder Wand I would use it only once. I would try to mend this one together. But since the Deathstick is gone for good, I have no reason to keep this wand any longer. There's no chance left…"

"So you wanted to possess the Elder Wand so you could repair your holly wand?" Voldemort asked, his eyes narrowing in incredulity.

"That's right," Harry responded with complete honesty. "I thought that an extraordinary wand would do the trick…"

The cold, white fingers opened Harry's palm and extracted the broken pieces out of it.

"This was a special wand too," Voldemort admitted after he was done surveying the damage closely. "It brought me many sleepless nights," he added and moved past Harry to place it on the bed.

"In my opinion, its fate hasn't been sealed yet. As you can see, the magical core, the phoenix feather, is not damaged."

"But when I asked Mr. Ollivander, he said that it is hopeless. He said that even he cannot repair such damage," Harry said quickly, feeling his heart hammer against his breastbone.

"I'm not a wandmaker, but I can tell you this - maybe you don't need an extraordinary wand, Harry," Voldemort said. "Maybe an extraordinary wizard will be enough. Besides, these two wands share a special connection, don't they?" he added and raised his yew wand meaningfully.

"You mean … does it mean that you want to try to mend it?" Harry said in husky voice, gazing at Tom as if he never saw him before.

"Outrageous, isn't it? Especially when I can still clearly recall how immensely happy I was the moment I learned that this particular wand was broken," Voldemort said quietly, his eyes unfocused, watching some event which took place in the past. "But I burned the bridges the moment I chose you over the Elder Wand," he said and straightened his back, drawing his yew wand slowly between his fingers. And Harry watched him, breathless, unable to hide how nervous, eager and hopeful he was. Voldemort was probably the only one who was powerful enough to make a difference – if there still was some chance for his poor holly wand.

The tip of the yew wand touched the protruding phoenix father and then the Dark Lord whispered a single word.

"_Reparo."_

And the holly wand twitched and merged itself into one piece, sending a cascade of red sparks over the white coverlet.

And Harry's vision blurred. There was an overwhelming feeling in his gut, which easily ousted his chest monster, taking its place as it tried to crawl outside his throat. He blocked it, but it threatened to spill in a sea of saline drops instead. Shivering, he stumbled closer to the bed and took the fixed wand into his hand. The moment he did so, sudden warmth rushed through his whole arm, acknowledging the long awaited reunion with its master, and the all-consuming feeling took over, breaking through Harry's defences.

A few minutes and many long calming breaths later, Harry wiped his face dry and slowly turned to face Tom.

"I … love you," he whispered throatily. "Ask anything you want. Anything..."

"Don't tempt me, boy. You know how I tend to handle an excess of power," Voldemort said softly.

Harry nodded a little, studying the man before him. His heart was beating madly in his chest and he felt warm … maybe too warm for his own good. He was overexcited, drowning in happiness and love and all he wanted at the moment was for Tom to feel the same. Since in terms of intimacy they already went as far as possible, there was no need for some excessive hesitation. Harry wanted to feel him, hear him and taste his skin again; he wanted repeat that mind-blowing experience when their bodies fused together. His libido, which was smothered by the stress and danger of the past days, sprung back to life and he gladly gave in. Yes, he could already think of dozens of perfect repayments and he wanted to make sure that Tom was not going to forget a single of them, ever.

"Okay," Harry smiled. "No problem. I have a couple of ideas myself."

He reached for the highest button on his shirt and undid it deftly before moving to the next in the row. Voldemort whispered something quickly, incomprehensibly. Whether it was a protest or a suggestion, it died on his lips with the sight of Harry's fingers working hastily to bare his skin.

Harry let the shirt fall down from his shoulders, pleased to feel Tom's transfixed stare upon himself. He took his fore and middle finger into his mouth and began sucking at them, no longer bothered by the absence of refinement in his actions. Once his digits were nicely wet he let them slide down his bare chest, circling his flat navel few times before diving into his loose jeans. He palmed his hardening member, bringing it up so its tip could be seen over the edge of his slightly protruding underwear.

"Tom," he breathed out, squeezing himself hard, watching Voldemort intently. The Dark Lord didn't move, only his thin lips shivered and his breath halted regularly in his windpipe. Harry could see the tension building in his body; he could feel the hunger in his gaze … that insatiable longing which was pushing Tom closer to his breaking point. And Harry enjoyed that his straightforward boldness was so appreciated and he had every intention to use it. In a relationship with another guy the _need_ comes first; sweet talks and tender kisses could be exchanged later – though Harry was definitely looking forward to that part too.

Walking leisurely towards him, still stroking himself, Harry was careful not to break their eye contact. He was relishing in the heat provided by the way they stared into each other's souls.

Playing with himself a little more, Harry stopped short from him and slowly sank to his knees, freeing his hand from his jeans to run it up and down the length of the other man's gorgeous legs.

"Tom … I'm sure you'll love this…," he whispered, leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the other man's crotch.

Finally, he could feel him; he could rub his cheek against that twitching, painful hardness, listen to Tom's surprised, pleasured gasps and smell his aroused body through the few layers of soft garments. And when those long cold fingers entangled themselves in his hair, tugging and scraping his scalp, Harry couldn't wait anymore.

Hurriedly, he licked him through his robes and sneaked his hand under the inner set of his robes. He traced the slightly rougher material of the trousers up to Voldemort's thin waist, dipping his fingers beneath it to feel more of his soft skin while brushing that prominent bulge in front of his face with his lips.

Harry was just about to undo his fly and show him that he was no longer ashamed to do this to a guy, when a harder, larger and colder hand stopped him.

Harry looked up, watching the raging fire in Voldemort's with a huge grin on his lips.

"Too slow?" he whispered.

The Dark Lord only wheezed breathlessly.

"Too fast then?" Harry asked and raised his eyebrow curiously.

As if it caused him some inner pain, Voldemort shook his head and said.

"Not now."

Harry, completely unprepared to hear this, stiffened. Then his smile slowly wilted away.

"Why not? Have I done something wrong?"

The Dark Lord took a step away from him, adjusting his dishevelled robe.

"No," he said detachedly.

"Then what's going on?-!" Harry hurled at him.

"Nothing," replied the same, emotionless voice.

"Screw this, Tom! We both know that you want it as much as I do so what's your problem?-!" Harry fumed as he rose back to his feet.

"Control your temper, boy," Voldemort hissed, ignoring the fact that Harry fisted his hair in desperation. "Now, I would like you to accompany me for a dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Harry said slowly through his gritted teeth, stabbing the Dark Lord with a first-rate glare. He felt utterly deceived and mistrusted and the thought of food only made him sick.

"Suit yourself then," Voldemort responded in the same toneless voice and strode out of the room, leaving the door wide open.

Harry, being completely alone all of a sudden, snarled a few juicy swearwords.

"What the heck is wrong with him?" he whispered angrily, while staring at the open door and then at the big problem in his jeans. When he saw no other option, he finally turned his head to the entrance to the bathroom and with a deep, anguished sigh he resigned to take a cold bath.

xxxxx

It was much later that night when Harry suddenly awoke. He remained completely motionless though, straining his ears for a moment. When he detected no suspicious sound, he brought his quilt closer to his face and snuggled against it, quickly falling back into pleasant, warm void.

But then he felt it again…

Something was nagging at the corner of his mind…

It took him only a brief moment to discern a distinct aura of frustration present in his room and Harry could only think of one person responsible for that – if he didn't count ghosts.

He opened his eyes a little to ascertain the source and indeed, he could see the Dark Lord's blurred figure pacing soundlessly between his bed and the fireplace, distantly reminding him some animal in a cage.

At first Harry contemplated telling him that he was awake. He was eager to discover why Tom came here, especially after refusing him so bluntly earlier this evening. However, now that he thought about it, he decided against speaking up. It would be easier to fake his slumber and observe him, which usually gave him a lot more information than some direct questioning. And honestly, if this late night visit had anything to do with Tom's sexual frustration (he vividly remembered how he had to tend to his own right after Voldemort had left) then he was ready to pretend that he was fast asleep till the morning.

The agitated aura shifted towards the fireplace again where Harry could see him a little bit better due to sharp contrast of light and shadows. Voldemort was facing the flames now, rubbing his shiny head distractedly and his long fingers twitched noticeably in apparent distress. By that point Harry was sure that he couldn't just lay here without any movement when the mere sight of him made him want to take him into his arms and set his mind to rest by making his cold body hot and needy instead. But he first needed to know why his lover was pacing his bedroom instead of sleeping in his embrace. He chose this out of his free will and it tormented Harry that he couldn't think of the single reason why no matter how hard he tried to reconsider all the possibilities.

He was certain of only one thing. It had to be his fault that Tom walked away from him. And if he really had done something wrong, could it be that…?

What if … what if he hurt him the last time they were together?

Harry, stricken by this unwanted option, froze where he lay and even forgot to breathe regularly.

It could be the reason, since they never had a chance to discuss it. He couldn't really know how much Tom enjoyed it with him or not…

Harry closed his eyes tightly. How could it happen that this thought never occurred to him before? Honestly, it wouldn't be too surprising if his inexperience with guys, his eagerness and fierce lust had caused him to rush through things instead of being patient. But Voldemort would surely say something if he were uncomfortable, or worse, in pain! He could always grasp his wand and torture him to the brink of unconsciousness, couldn't he? Moreover, if he didn't like it for whatever reason, he would hardly ask for the second round, right?

Harry suppressed a deep sigh; it didn't make any sense at all.

Maybe he simply became too careless as the night went on and stopped paying attention to his lover's needs later on. He could mess up hundreds of things and the only way to discover his misdeed was to ask him again.

Harry forced himself to stop mulling this over and over and glanced nervously at the Dark Lord's back. He wished he could see into his head once more so he could avoid the embarrassing conversation…

Voldemort suddenly turned to him and Harry closed his eyes that instant. Hoping that he could still fool him, Harry tried hard to remain as relaxed as possible. For a moment he didn't hear or feel anything but then the mattress suddenly dipped under him with the additional weight.

His muscles instinctively locked in the place and his heart jumped forcefully in his chest. He felt Voldemort's powerful gaze on himself; he could perfectly tell where he was watching and it was almost impossible not to stir … or blush.

But when those cold fingers touched his chest and pulled away the quilt from his body, he could no longer pretend anything. He opened his eyes just to see Voldemort graciously bent down to attach his lips above the waistline of his briefs. Harry felt his abdominal muscles tighten under that soft touch and he instinctively reached out to stroke the back of Tom's head.

"I knew you were awake," the Dark Lord whispered against his skin. "And I knew you were pretending that you're not because you're mad at me."

"Not as much as I am at myself right now," Harry breathed out, marvelling at the feeling of the smooth skin under his palm and on his belly.

"I'm sorry for hurting you the last time," he said when the red eyes met his own.

"Hurting me?" Voldemort repeated as he slowly sat back.

"Isn't that the reason why you left tonight? Seriously, you should have stopped me back then or at least say something and I would have tried my best to make it as enjoyable as possible! Now it's too late I guess."

Voldemort shifted closer to him and Harry used that moment to reach for his glasses and put them on his nose. When he turned back to him, the Dark Lord already hovered over him

"What are you talking about?" he said softly and Harry felt warmth rush into his face.

"Eh… Isn't it obvious?"

"Maybe," the older man smirked. "I'm just amazed that all of the things which could have hurt me you think of that one."

"So I didn't?" Harry sat up, confused. "I didn't hurt you?"

"Of course not," Voldemort whispered, adding some excessive hiss into his answer. "I wish nothing more than to repeat that experience…"

"Then why the hell did you go away before?-!" Harry cried out, outraged.

Voldemort's deep red eyes narrowed a little bit.

"Because I lied to you," he said then. "I lied to you again, Harry. I gave you a choice to leave me, so you could find yourselves another mate, but I didn't mean it at all. I had no real intention to let you go. If you have followed my advice I would eventually force you to return to me.

I _need_ you here and yet you already plan on going back to your friends who hate the fact that you're with me. They think my only intent is to torment you and abuse you and I'm sure they will try everything including dishonesty to prevent your return here. That's also why I left you earlier this evening. Resisting the temptation of your closeness was the easiest way I could think of to show them my lack of hostility towards you..."

Harry stared at him for a moment, unable to form a word.

"_H-hostility?"_ he finally stuttered out, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well … it seems to me, Tom, that you have forgotten about one important thing in your deduction."

"What thing?"

"_You've forgotten about me,_ _Tom_. Me! Goddam it, I can perfectly decide by myself who I want to be with and what kind of life I want to live! You're wrong when you think that it's my friends' business because it's _not_! Besides, I'm sure that they only want to know one thing - if I am happy with you or not. So what the hell am I supposed to tell them the next time I see them?"

"I _am_ happy, Tom," Harry assured him quickly as he saw his momentary unguarded aghast expression. "But you would make it_ a lot_ easier for me if you just forgot your fears and believed in me for once, because _I love you_!"

Voldemort's amazed gaze set Harry's heart racing. He quickly continued before his feelings could choke him.

"I simply do, so the next time you have some problem, just tell me about it right away, okay? If you can't solve it by yourself, you always have me to help you with that. _**You are not alone anymore, Tom,**_" Harry said imploringly while clutching his bony hand. "And by the way, I am coming back to you even if my friends disagree with that. That's a promise, Tom, so you don't have to chain me to the bed or whatever you were planning to make me stay."

Throughout Harry's fervent speech Voldemort was watching him intently, incredulous and amused. Then he gave him one of his unique real smiles and his eyes softened to the point that Harry could see what he was actually thinking and how grateful he was. Just a thought that the Dark Lord trusted him enough to lower his barriers around him to a minimum washed away all his previous tension and Harry smiled back.

"Now," he said playfully and brought him down atop of himself. "Can we finally continue where we stopped before?"

They kissed, hungrily but lovingly, enjoying the sensation of lips and their tongues intertwining and rubbing against each other. Harry then loosened his clutch on Tom's neck and began to rediscover his body with his fingertips, waving his way through many layers of the silky robes.

"It's been like this for the past five hours," the cool lips moved against his dry ones after Harry brushed the bulge which was poking against his thigh. "I couldn't wish it away."

Harry smiled and curled his fingers around it, making the older wizard shiver violently. He broke away from his lips and kissed the exposed throat instead, starting from the edge of Tom's jaw, moving over the healed scar on his neck down to the curve of his shoulder and then back to sharp chin and cool mouth.

"Hmmm …let me take care of it," he murmured, removed his hand so he could help Tom remove his expensive robes before climbing on top of him.

Albeit Voldemort didn't fight the new position, Harry could sense his discomfort. At first he wanted to discard this observation, nevertheless his curiosity about the lack of Tom's protests won the better of him. Harry looked deep into his eyes as he kissed him, using the knowledge of the Dark Lord's mind to get over his low barriers and take a glance into the depth of his soul. Under the thin wrapping of invulnerability he soon discovered Voldemort's insistent struggle with his newly regained humanity. Regardless of that, Tom's healed soul desperately clung to Harry's image as to the only granted source of happiness. This vital need for inner peace was so strong that it bent the Dark Lord's colossal ego and made him play the role Harry desired, even at the cost of his superiority.

And Harry realized that he was just about to use this emotional dependence (though unwittingly) to pursue his own satisfaction. Stunned by his own offensive crudeness, Harry stopped kissing him and pulled back, staring down at Tom with blank expression.

"What's the matter?" Voldemort hissed, irritated and concerned about the sudden change in Harry's demeanour. "Hurry up!"

A minute ago Harry would gladly follow that command and have his way with him but now, when he understood better, he couldn't do that. Tom had every right to request the position which he had so eagerly taken. It would be only fair if he yielded to Voldemort's demands since he was the one in control the last time. And he should be the one to suggest for being so rudely disregardful.

"If this is some sort of revenge for the earlier…," Voldemort began and tried to push him away but Harry stopped him with a quick peck on his lips.

"It's not," he said hastily, his eyes downcast. "I just thought that … it's your turn tonight," he said it quickly aloud before he could change his mind.

Voldemort stilled under him completely, studying Harry's reddened face with open curiosity.

"That is true, only you don't want it that way," he stated then in a calm, unaffected voice.

"That's not true," Harry shook his head, unable to hold his gaze. "Just because it's not a part of my dreams of you, it doesn't mean that I don't want to broaden my horizons. I want to … I'm ready to try it."

Harry was glad that he managed to sound so calm and aloof, but it didn't stop his stomach from tying itself into a tiny knot. Despite himself, he couldn't believe that he was really agreeing with this.

Voldemort didn't hesitate for a second. He pushed Harry on his back, apparently thrilled by the whole idea. And since Harry said that he wanted it, he couldn't even utter a gasp of surprise or protest. But the moment the long white fingers hooked themselves behind the hem of his underwear and pulled it down, all Harry could think was that it was too fast and that he needed to some reconsideration.

"Finally mine," Voldemort whispered exultantly, his red eyes bright and alive. "I can't wait to know you would feel. Ah, Harry, it turns me on so much when you are all nervous and scared."

Harry dearly wished that he could say the same. He looked away, resolute to stay quiet no matter how bad the pain might be. Regret began to swirl in his mind and he wished he kept his mouth shut and his curiosity in check. But he wasn't going to change his mind now; he was intent to deal with this like a man.

Fortunately enough, Tom's rough kisses all over his abdomen and chest were amazingly distractive and pleasant; the long nails grazing his ass however made him wince and wriggle.

"Tom…," he said tensely. He wasn't even ready to imagine how much it would hurt if those fingers were to spear him the way they were now.

"Cut … cut off your fingernails first," he whispered and caught Voldemort's wrist, holding it away.

The Dark Lord summoned his wand fast and proceeded without any comment. When Harry felt his touch a moment later again, it was an incomparably more comforting experience. Then the cool lips were suddenly down on his softening erection and Voldemort's tepid tongue grazed its whole length lightly, making Harry arch his back into the air and moan in delight. Harry's whole word refocused from his worried expectations to that wet, mildly warm mouth which was doing the most wonderful things to his body.

The climax was quickly building up in him; Harry gnashed his teeth repeatedly as the sparks of pleasure were becoming stronger and brighter with every fluent movement of that insistent mouth on him. His whole body curled and teemed with heat and though he couldn't ignore the prodding against his anus, bringing him a distant pain each time some of the fingers slipped inside, he was too submerged in the delightful sensations to give it a thought.

"T- … Tom," he tried to gasp out a warning as he knew he reached his limit. Voldemort probably felt him tighten for he looked up into his face, then let go of him quickly and sat back on his heels. Deprived of the heavenly stimulation, Harry cursed out loudly and curled his fingers around himself. He couldn't stop now; he has gone too far…

But Tom was back above him, removing his hand from his aching need and pulling him closer.

"Don't tense," he hissed breathlessly and then Harry felt something disproportionately large rub against his opening.

The pressure soon turned into a burning pain, which took Harry by surprise and made him hunch forward, his jaw dropping in silent scream. His fingers scrabbled around until found some of the crumpled bed sheets and he clenched them in his fists as he writhed on the bed. It hurt more than he expected, but, to be completely honest, it was still tolerable when compared to other pains which he already endured in his rather short life. He managed to sustain control over his voice and a few moments later even over his expression.

But the worst was yet to come when Voldemort moved for the first time; it was too much even for Harry. He clutched at his neck and brought him down, pressing his lips against his ear as he asked him in strangled voice to wait.

And Tom stilled on top of him and Harry could finally properly_ feel_ him over the pain, feel his rapid heartbeat, which was even faster than his own, and hear the half-choked whispers in Parseltongue. Harry had to strain his ears to catch at least some words; they were muffled by their moans and gasps.

**"_Hot … so hot … too much … I can't … Harry … Harry…"_**

It was the moment when Harry realized that Tom was in pain too and that there was nothing too enviable about his current state and position. Honestly, would he be also able to stop like that? He was lucky that Tom could take the bottom part a way more easily than him – or maybe he just pretended it better. And Harry felt that he should at least try to do the same for him, even though the idea of continuing in this was a bit appalling.

"Go on, Tom… I'm all right," he whispered softly and kissed his ear, willing himself to relax as much as possible. He wrapped his legs around Voldemort's narrow waist, causing him to sink deeper and awakening a new feeling in his abdomen which momentarily overrode the pain. And Harry finally knew what to pursue. Though the first few thrusts were entirely painful, he withstood it by taking pleasure from the closeness of Tom's body instead. His muscles gradually began to relax; maybe slower than he wanted them but in the end the uncomfortable burning began to turn into a pleasant heat and that movement deep inside him was stimulating that incredible sensation in his abdomen again.

Thrilled by his sudden enjoyment, Harry gasped loudly and let his head fall backward, whispering Tom's name. With the worst pain gone Harry didn't mind that his lover started to move faster. On the other hand he appreciated the change of speed for it suddenly made everything even better, hotter and more intense.

"Am… ah… a-mazing. Don't stop … I feel so… so…," he choked out as the shimmering warmth began to spread over his whole body, making his muscles clench in little delightful spasms. He wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible; it was so unlike anything he experienced before. But Voldemort was already at his limit, Harry could feel that his thrusts were falling out of the sync and he could no longer control his vocals.

Harry pulled him into a tight embrace with a decision to fully explore this very promising experience later and whispered hotly into his ear.

"Don't … hold back..."

Voldemort heaved himself up; he took a firm grasp of Harry's hips and slammed into him quickly and brutally a couple of times. Then his spine curved and a scream tore through his throat. His eyes grew wide in stunned wonder and he came violently, his body shaking uncontrollably for a moment before he sagged down on Harry, who was enjoying his pleasure as if it were his own, kissing him and holding him close until it was finally over.

Harry let his head drop on the pillow, finding himself in the most peculiar state of satisfied arousal. Voldemort's quick, ragged pants gradually slowed down as he refilled his air deprived lungs and Harry, who still held him in loose embrace, was mesmerized by the warmth of his skin.

"I love you."

That hoarse whisper coming from the mouth of the ex-mass murderer was something Harry didn't expect to hear again. But he saw inside those deep scarlet, glimmering eyes the truth about the monumental power behind those words; the power which could change not only their fates but also the fate of the whole wizarding world. Now he was willing to believe in Dumbledore's words telling him that his greatest weapon was his ability to love. And he could see that Tom understood it too.

"You know I love you too," he smiled gently, making a silent promise to himself to overcome any obstacle to protect this miraculous feeling they shared.

Tom smiled back which made his pale, unusual face truly beautiful in Harry's eyes.

"I believe," he breathed out and curled his fingers around Harry's persistent 'problem'. "That you want to continue, don't you?"

Harry didn't even have to say a word and he already went back to showing him some more of the miracles that his awesome mouth was capable of. And Harry happily gave into that madness, which, unlike any other insanity he faced so far, had nothing to do with pain, loneliness, loss and death. It was the kind of madness which always gave back what it took and created anew what broke apart.

_For it was a madness of love._

_**Fin**_

_**R&R**_

**Epilogue? :D**


	21. Epilogue

**Autor's note: **I'm not dead (though the lack of free time slowly kills me)! Here's the promised epilogue. Also, I feel much better about it than any previous version I had so far. This one is specifically about Harry and Tom; I've decided to leave the fate of other characters up your imagination.

Sorry, unbetaed at the moment. Please, kindly ignore all the neglected mistakes.

Rating of the chapter:** T/M **(another thing I have to leave up to you, though I think this one _could_ pass as T)

**Epilogue**

xxxxx

_somewhere on a southern coast of the Mexican Riviera_

_19__th __August 2003, 19:30 local time_

xxxxx

Harry threaded his fingers through his dark, unruly hair and then he lifted his head, pushing the spectacles up his nose as he watched the golden sun slowly set down over the glittering ocean's horizon. He breathed in the warm air smelling of salt and sea, feeling the small droplets water spatter over his face as the azure waves broke one after another against the base of white, flat cliffs close bellow him. The perfect harmony of colours, sounds and scent was nearly surreal. It was hard to believe that places like this even existed; especially for someone like him who spent most of his childhood being locked behind the walls of a small cupboard under the stairs. He could sit here for days, simply watching this in awe. It seemed like a miracle to him that he could really be here, that he could travel around the world and explore uchmarvellous places, that he could meet new people, gain knowledge, experience and most of all _enjoy his life_. Harry only started to get taste of things which many of people took for granted.

He felt so free now without any obligation towards the wizarding world. It was a pure joy to be so careless for once. It didn't bother him at all that most of the magical community considered him somewhat lunatic. What really mattered to him was his friends' opinion and since they pretty much accepted his choice (after seeing that he wasn't turning into another dark lord or suffering from some terrible abuse), Harry could easily handle occasional distrust or even dislike from strangers. Because he was happy - happier than he ever thought that he could be. That wonderful feeling of delight which was ceaselessly spreading through his chest made him wonder if he could eventually die of it.

And it was the most unlikely person, who was responsible for his elated state of mind.

Harry smiled broadly and looked down at the seemingly endless cyan depths, hoping that he would see him somewhere.

It was so thrilling, but also a little startling to always have him around, caring and _loving_. Maybe he didn't understand Tom's nature as much as he thought he did, or maybe his dear ex-Dark Lord was not entirely sincere with him, playing a little charade to appease his need of safety. Harry knew that everything would be absolutely perfect for him if he were to happily accept it instead of finding it a bit disconcerting every now and then. Still, if he were to be honest with himself, he would prefer if they could do without any pretence in their relationship. He wanted to erase that nagging suspicion that Voldemort merely dutifully played a role of a nice guy for fear of losing him in case of some mistreatment. If Tom meant it to be another proof of love, Harry didn't needed it. He didn't want some walking perfection by his side which he could use to boast about his 'evil taming' abilities; he wanted the guy who he fell for and he wanted him happy.

Besides, if what he suspected was true, he didn't even want to imagine how stressful it had to be for Tom to _always_ be on guard about _everything_ he wanted to say or do. If he could not be himself, not even for the shortest while, how long it would take him to grow tired of this … of him?

"Damn it," Harry muttered, biting his lip.

He was just about to contemplate what action he should take, when the train of his thoughts was interrupted by tickling of a magical aura touching his own. It was barely a notable sensation, but Harry was a trained wizard already; he knew what it meant.

"Tom," he breathed out and closed his eyes for a moment, his muscles gradually relaxing as he felt a kiss on the back of his neck. The slender arms wrapped themselves around his chest and the rest of Harry's thoughts scattered as the pleasant chill of that loose embrace filled every corner of his mind.

"What's the matter, Harry? You seem so tense...," he finally heard the quiet voice whispered to his ear.

"Oh … I was already planning a rescue mission in case you were drowning," Harry smiled. "What took you so long?"

"Have you missed me much?"

Harry, unable to hold back any longer, turned around and claimed Tom's lips, sinking deeper into his cool and slightly wet embrace. They were all alone (due to a couple of effective charms, of course) on this small beach surrounded by wonderful cliffs, so he felt pretty comfortable even when the cold hands began their journey over his heated body. Then one of them shamelessly slipped into his swimming trunks and curled around him, making him groan softly.

"I have a gift for you," Voldemort said and Harry had to focus very hard on his words instead of the movement of his hand.

"A gift?" Harry gasped, half in protest since the hand in question slipped away and took something from the ground.

"A little souvenir, if you like..."

It was a pearl, big enough to fit into a king's crown. It also shone in dozens of colours, just like the sky above them. Harry watched it for a while, entranced.

"Tom," he finally said. "It's wonderful, but … you know that I love you even without..."

"It's yours then," Voldemort interrupted him and kissed his temple.

It was like that wherever they went. Harry was quite familiar with Tom's indulgence in collecting valuable stuff. His lover, however, no longer kept his possessions for himself and rather gave them to him instead. Harry was slightly embarrassed by that since he would prefer to have it other way around. However, very soon he learned that any attempt to return these little presents was a bad idea. This time he knew better than that.

"Thank you," he said as took it from him. "But I have nothing in return for you."

"Nonsense," Voldemort shook his head. "I require many things from you and I'm very glad you're keen to give them generously."

"I guess you're talking about my company, my feelings for you and er … my body heat perhaps?" Harry hesitated a little before leaning closer to him. "But what about the things you desire, yet never ask for them?"

Voldemort avoided the touch of Harry's approaching lips, watching him speculatively instead.

"What do you mean?"

"You tell me."

After a moment of silence they spent considering each other, the older man said curtly.

"I have no idea what this is about."

"Aw, come on. You cannot think only of the ways how to please me, can you? Maybe sometimes in the dark of the night you are tempted to consider what it would be like if you crushed both the Order andthe vampires. Don't you ever wonder what it would be like if you ruled the world, if all your old dreams came true?"

Voldemort moved away from him quickly as if he got slapped over the face.

"Those are not my dreams anymore," he retorted and Harry felt his glare burning holes into his skull. He smiled uncertainly and rubbed his nose in a display of nerves.

"I'm really glad to hear that but how do_you_ feel about it? In all honesty, don't you feel as if you were living some … artificial life? That this isn't the real you? Are you _truly_ happy?"

What Harry really wanted to ask was: 'Am I making you happy?' but somehow he didn't find courage to voice it that way.

"Why are we talking about this again?" Voldemort returned coldly, gazing somewhere in the distance. "You sound as if you would be _pleased_ if I suddenly decided to go on a killing rampage. Why are you looking for some evidence that I haven't changed? That deep inside I'm still the same person? It greatly disappoints me, Harry, I must say. Here I thought that you'd be happy to know that I haven't killed anyone for _years_! I guess shall go to the next village and quickly remedy that mistake."

Though the words were surely meant to be daunting, Harry felt strangely relieved. He suspected that this was Tom's weak spot, something he was trying to deny but it was still there. Now that he knew it for sure, maybe he could help him somehow.

"It's not like that at all. I'm very happy and proud of you, my love," he said gently. "It amazes me that you can be so strong. It makes me love you even more."

The strain in Voldemort's spine began to disappear after hearing those words. He looked back Harry, somewhat mollified.

"But I want to make it easier for you," Harry continued. "I hate to know that you still have to … _suffer _in some way, while I can't help it."

"My precious boy … what I feel right now is as far from suffering as it can possibly be. As long as you're here, I don't care very much about what was before. It's merely a question of time before my past becomes completely insignificant to me and _this_ will be the only desired reality. It's inevitable, really, since I want it that way."

"Is it at least getting easier for you in time?" Harry asked, even though he knew the answer. The following silence only confirmed it. "Not much, right? You see. Don't lock away yourself so harshly. I can handle it for a while."

"You don't know what you're saying," Voldemort said with a distinct hiss, all previous softness gone from his voice.

"Quite the opposite. It's better than having you snap at some point."

"Harry..."

"Come on, don't hold it inside. You can start by telling me ... some dirty secret perhaps? Something you don't want me to know 'cause you fear I would leave you. I promise I won't do that. You made me quite strong, don't you think?"

Harry lowered his head and kissed the long scar at the base of Tom's neck, feeling the lean muscles tighten under his touch. It was pleasant to see Voldemort got quite into shape during the past two years. It was so much more enjoyable to feel something softer than just bones under his skin. Harry loved the improvement regardless of the fact that Tom will probably always be considerably skinnier than he was.

"Confide in me," he breathed against his neck, enjoying the shiver he evoked. "You have nothing to worry about, trust me."

Harry looked up, meeting the intent gaze of deep red eyes.

"This has nothing to do with my trust," the older man responded. "I simply don't think you can _handle_ Lord Voldemort. Certainly not at the current level of your emotional attachment."

"Let me surprise you as always," Harry said confidently.

"No," Voldemort shook his head, though his voice lacked a little of his previous resolution.

"Well … as you wish," Harry sigheddisappointedly, secretly hoping that this reaction would impair Tom's resolve even further.

He turned around to face the darkening sky again and made himself more comfortable on the rug.

"I want you to know that you can tell me whenever you feel ready. Just please, don't forget to warn me beforehand."

"So you can get over your initial shock?" Voldemort snorted derisively.

He failed to cover his surprise when Harry beamed at him over his shoulder.

"That's right."

After a moment the dark wizard moved a little closer to him, but Harry pretended he didn't notice, playing with the pearl in his palm.

He managed to remain disinterested until the cold fingers suddenly squeezed his throat and forced him backwards until he met the other man's chest. The clutch on his neck was firm but not exactly painful or blocking his airways in any way. Therefore Harry managed to fight back the urge to push that hand away and waited patiently for the other man to speak.

"I wonder if you've only been born to tempt me, Harry," Voldemort's high voice was so quiet that Harry had problems to discern the words.

"Because, in fact, I may have a wish or two, which concerns you closely."

"Yeah? What it is?" Harry gasped as the grip momentarily tightened.

"It would be very foolish of me to tell. I refuse to risk losing the feeling I've been missing whole my life for some needless whim. It's not worth it … nothing's worth it."

"Is it that bad?" Harry breathed out.

"I suppose."

"You can't hurt me just by telling me."

"Oh, I don't think so. You wouldn't feel safe with me anymore."

"Do you know what the Auror's biggest flaw is?" Harry responded readily to that. "It's a tendency to slack in alertness and feel safe around someone. That's at least what I was taught during my training. And, honestly, I don't mind a bit of excitement every now and then."

"This is so true for every dark lord as well," Voldemort said bemusedly and let his hand slid down to Harry's chest.

"I thought you would agree," the younger man nodded.

"So persistent... Tell me, why do you want to know it so much?"

"'Cause I prefer to deal with issues instead of pretending that there aren't any."

"I see..." there was a brief pause filled with tense silence. "All right … since it's your decision, I'll tell you then."

"Okay," Harry breathed out and turned so he could face him again.

Voldemort raised a bony finger to his thin lips and appeared to be thoughtful.

"Although," he said, "your friends would very likely want my head if they knew..."

Harry's eyes widened for a fraction of a second and he gulped idly. Deep inside, he scolded himself for that instinctive reaction. What was he expecting to hear? That Tom wanted to go pick up flowers with him or what? But this ... hearing him say that the Order would want him dead if they learned about this... Suddenly, Harry wasn't entirely sure that this was such a good idea. But it wasn't his style to go back on his word.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted glasses and slowly nodded.

"Fine, I'll keep on my mind not to mention anything before them," he said warily.

The red eyes watched him closely and Harry felt slight probing at the surface of his thoughts.

"You doubt your decision," Voldemort pointed out softly then.

This was one of the moments when Harry wasn't exactly thrilled that his mind was still quite transparent to him. He looked away, playing with the pearl distractedly.

"Who wouldn't?" he said before shaking his head. "But that's all right. I said that you can trust me. And I meant it."

"Ah, yes. Brave as always."

Voldemort reached out for him and for the shortest moment, during which the hair on Harry's neck stood up and his whole body shivered, he could feel the chilling touch of two fingers on his forehead, lightly tracing his scar. Then the hand slid down slowly, paused at his neck where the cold thumb pressed against his Adam's apple while the other fingers delved into his hair.

"I've always wanted a victory," Voldemort finally spoke. "Our past is filled with countless encounters and yet you had always managed to outsmart me somehow."

Harry slowly met the intense sanguine gaze.

"And I can't get this out of my mind," Voldemort continued, the edge of his voice giving Harry chills. "Whenever I see you I keep thinking that I couldn't defeat this boy. No matter how precious he's to me now I _could not _defeat him. It makes me feel so ... incompetent. It urges me to do something reckless; something regrettable..."

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips and forced himself to breathe with some difficulty.

"By saying that … do you mean...?" he began slowly, wondering how should he ask something he didn't want to ask at all. "Does it mean … that you want us to have … _a duel?_"

Harry failed to mask a tremor in his voice. Frankly, he didn't see many options of his survival if the answer was yes. If Voldemort asked him to get up and fight him that instant, he wouldn't be able to do it. He couldn't comprehend that Tom was really considering something like that since he would never … he couldn't even think about hurting him...

The older wizard's response was immediate. First he appeared to be aghast, but that expression didn't stay on his face long. In a matter of seconds he was completely livid.

"Are you _insane_?-!" he hissed scathingly, taking a firm grasp of Harry's shoulders and shaking him hard as if trying to knock some sense back to him.

Harry felt like swooning in relief.

"Yeah, sure I am, according to the Daily Prophet at least," Harry managed to smile at last. Then he brought a knee to his chest so he could rest his head on it. "Okay. So, if you don't want to kill me, what's on your mind then?" he asked almost playfully.

"Don't look so relieved yet," Voldemort retorted, still upset, waiting for Harry's grin to wilt away. "I'm sure you wouldn't enjoy it very much, if the _true_ fantasy of mine were to happen."

"Let me think," Harry pondered aloud, "You want to see me defeated and completely at your mercy, right? What would you want to do then?" he asked, feeling his heart steadily beat faster.

"Many things...," Voldemort said evasively.

"Things which would make my friends declare a new war against you?"

The older man didn't answer, but Harry stubbornly continued.

"Why don't you name a few?"

The moment Voldemort stopped avoiding Harry's eyes their gazes clashed.

"Don't get the wrong idea, boy. I don't want to hurt you … for real. I just … you have no idea how much I would like to…"

He stopped fishing for proper words and shook his head in a gesture as close to defeat as it could be. "Nah, this is so pointless. I'm not going to insist that I want any of it to happen so it's meaningless to talk about it."

At that point, Harry slowly began to put two and two together. He had the feeling that the resulting answer would miraculously explain everything: Tom's hesitation even though he was often almost cruel in his honesty, the choice of his words, his uneasiness, his apparent frustration...

"Could it be that you would like to..."

Harry realized that he couldn't say it as well. The word twisted and wriggled on his tongue, resisting to be voiced. Probably because it was something which could hardly fall within terms of normal relationship. Harry gritted his teeth. Hasn't he given up on being 'normal' quite some time ago?

"R … rap...," Harry coughed. And then he gulped it down.

Tom's face became unreadable except of his gaze which reflected his desire … and shame...

"Something like that could prove to be difficult with a totally willing victim," Harry whispered evenly, never looking away from the other man's face. Voldemort's jaws tightened and then he nodded imperceptibly.

"Indeed," he bit out.

There was a moment of silence when Harry didn't know what to say. Now that the truth was out, he didn't feel so brave about it.

"I hope you're satisfied now. Tell me, has this discovery of my unceasing depravity made you happy?" Voldemort asked sourly and his words rang like bells in Harry's ears.

He looked away and his eyes caught the contrast of Voldemort's pale figure against the quickly darkening surroundings. He remembered that his appearance was alwayslike that. Strangely, he refused to make similar connection during all the time they were together as if there was an invisible wall separating him from what was before,which, considering the fact that he preferred to act as if he didn't mind what happened in their past, was rather strange. Maybe he was living in pretence too only he wasn't even aware of it. Curiously enough, now that itwas crumbing apart, Harry didn't feel more defenceless or vulnerable. After all, when he fell in love with him, Voldemort wasn't a good person at all. That time Harry only refused to give up on him like everyone else did.

He was not going to give up on him now either.

Besides, loving someone wasn't about changing the person - it was about acceptance, toleration, understanding, respect. Those were the essentials they were striving to achieve.

Harry looked down at his own intertwined fingers. He wasn't frightened or anything like that. He just didn't know what to think. It could be much worse that that for sure, yet a simple thought of some ruthless violence during such an intimate act was upsetting his stomach. He turned his face back to the ocean, combating a horde of different worried him that if he wanted to put on a good show, he would have to fall back into the old 'mortal enemies' pattern. What if it would affect his feelings somehow? What if he would realize the next morning that he couldn't love him the way he did before - that his feelings simply weren't strong enough? He wasn't ready to risk that, which was cowardly of him no matter how he looked at it. He owed Tom for trying really hard to become someone he could be proud of. Voldemort wasn't always perfect, but he was doing an amazing job. He certainly deserved a reward for his long-time endeavour. And Harry could see why this may be a perfect vent for his dominant, imperious nature. If he were allowed to feel a moment of victory over the Chosen One, he may not feel tempted to compensate his … well … 'defeat' otherwise.

"Have I angered you much?"

The slightly nervous voice brought him out of his muse and he reflexively shook his head.

"Stop thinking about it, Harry. As I said, it's just a needless whim of mine."

If Harry needed something to decide his inner battle, he finally had it.

"But _you are_ thinking about it. And as_ you said_, it is bothering you constantly." Harry moved to sit on his heels, feeling surprisingly overconfident all of a sudden. "I'll do it but I have few conditions which I want to discuss first."

Voldemort let out a quiet gasp. Harry couldn't quickly recall the last time he saw him this taken aback.

"You are seriously considering this?" he asked, cautious and disbelieving at once.

"Yes, I think. I love you and … you know, I can hardly say I hate something when I haven't tried it once."

Incredulous about his luck, the older wizard reached out to squeeze Harry's leg just above his knee.

"Tell me your conditions then," he said quickly.

Harry grinned at his eagerness.

"Fine. In return, I would love to have you whenever I want to … let's say till the end of the month."

That cooled down Voldemort's overgrowing enthusiasm significantly.

"Today's just _eighteenth_, Potter," he noted icily.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sure you can handle it, can't you?"

Voldemort's doubtful look briskly morphed into a glare.

"Don't overdo it, boy."

"Oh, quit complaining. Unlike you, I don't plan on adding any violent interlude consisting of wrestling, bondage, feet-licking followed by some dry-fucking or whatever specialitiesyou have on your mind. Unless you want them, of course."

Voldemort's glare sharpened after that but all he said in the end was: "All right. What else do you want?"

"Or what I _don't_ want," Harry corrected. "It concerns a certain type of curses … or just one curse to be specific."

"You really thought that I would use Unforgivables on you?" Voldemort gasped in dismay, but deep inside Harry suspected it was – at least partly - just an act. Therefore, he chuckled and raised an eyebrow, silently telling him: 'I know what you like.'

"All right then! No Cruciatus Curse," the dark wizard ground out. "Anything else?"

"Right. Don't mention my parents 'cause I might start to take it … eh … a bit too seriously and … I also want to have my wand around."

"Hmph. I'm not sure I can guarantee that last request. But you can always _try _to keep it," Voldemort said bemusedly, stroking his thin lips with his forefinger, his anger quickly disappearing.

"Sounds fair," Harry agreed reluctantly before looking back at the sea where the huge orange moon slowly rose to start its path over the night sky.

"If that's all, let's settle this. Do you want to do it tonight or would you prefer some other time?"

"Tonight, I guess," Harry said and then smiled. "Since I'm allowed to have fun with you only till the end of the month."

"Brat," Tom hissed under his breath.

"Bastard," Harry returned lovingly. "I love you though. Don't forget it."

Voldemort nodded and kissed his cheek. Harry heard a very quiet "Thank you," and then he was gone, leaving him to watch the evening spectacle by himself. And Harry did that for a good half an hour. The moon was already above the ocean when he decided to take a quick night swim in pleasantly warm water.

It was then when his doubts really started to nag at him. He didn't really want to _do that_, not even in the slightest. It was only Tom's rare gratitude which kept him from changing him mind entirely. After he walked out of water, he picked up the pearl which he left in one of his sandals. Having it in his hand was surprisingly calming. He knew that he was loved to the point that Voldemort was giving him his possessions. He didn't need another reassurance that Tom had no real intention to hurt him. Still, he sighed as he cautiously looked around. Waiting was always the worst part; it was making him exceedingly nervous. He didn't understand why Tom left him in the first place. If he had wanted to give him some time to calm down, Harry would have told him right away that he didn't need that. It was more likely that Voldemort wanted to play on his nerves instead. Considering what he desired, it would make much more sense.

Harry pulled out his wand from the small case which was tightened to his upper arm and clutched it tightly in his palm as he washed all the salt from his skin. Then he slipped into his sandals. He briefly wished to be able to turn into his 'old-self' for tonight, just to make Tom happy, and then return to senses in the morning. Somehow, he didn't trust his resolve to fight him for real and if he failed to do so, Tom would rightfully feel deceived.

"It shows that I wasn't thinking at all when I suggested it. What am I going to do now?" Harry muttered for himself, pacing restlessly along the shore. After a couple minutes he gradually began to feel tired.

"Is he planning to keep me waiting all night?" he grumbled impatiently. He began to feel a bit cold and his growing tiredness eventually decided his next step. He was going to enter the snake's den – or their tent to be more specific.

He walked leisurely to their 'residence' standing nearby and once he reached it, he pushed aside the tent flap and looked inside the quiet room.

"Voldemort?" he asked as he slowly walked further in.

"Are you in here?"

No response was also a response.

"Fine," Harry sighed. "Fine. I don't care. You'll have it your way anyway."

He came over to the bedroom, pulled off his swimming trunks, quickly toweled himself andgot dressed into his pyjamas. Then he put the pearl into a drawer of his bedside table and fell onto the bed, waiting, keeping his wand at ready.

He didn't understand how he could feel incredibly nervous and sleepy at once. It was a long day, true, and he was up from wee hours, but it didn't meant he could afford himself to close his eyes … not even for a minute.

Therefore, it was a huge surprise for him when he awoke with a shock of being gagged and having his arms painfully bound behind his back.

"Tsk … Potter…," a chilling voice said mockingly.

"I haven't thought that you would make it so easy for me… You didn't even bother to give your habitation a basic magical protection. I shall make you pay for your carelessness."

Harry finally managed to turn from his stomach onto his back and look at the man above him.

Voldemort wore his long black cloak and he was watching him with that unnerving mixture of haughtiness and arrogance, which Harry didn't see on his face for years. It made him somehow sick from the stomach. Apparently, Voldemort had no problem to slip back into his Dark Lord's role and Harry began to feel traumatized by that.

He squirmed wildly, feeling how whatever cloth binding his hands cut deeper into his skin. He tried to force the gag out of his mouth by rubbing his face against the mattress, but before he could make any progress, he felt some invisible force envelop his body and tug him down from the bed, slowly dragging him after Voldemort into the kitchen.

Harry felt how his shirt rolled up and the dirt left a long scratches on his skin. He gave one last, furious attempt to free his numbing hands so he could reach for the wand which remained on the bed.

It was hopeless.

Harry turned his head towards Voldemort who momentarily paid him very little attention. It changed just another moment when he was thrown on the kitchen table, face down, and kept there by a forceful grip on his hair. By the corner of his eye he saw the long fingers wrap around a wooden spoon.

"Muggle-loving Potter in a muggle kitchen. I already start liking this idea."

Harry hurled a curse into his gag, glaring over his shoulder at Voldemort who leaned down to whisper to his ear.

"I might remove that gag later on so I can listen to your begging for mercy."

"Never!" Harry retorted, but the stifled sound reminded a bark more than anything else. Voldemort, however, easily recognized the meaning of it and his thin lips spread into a malicious smile.

"We will see."

xxxxx

_a tent on the beach, Mexico  
_

_19__th __August 2003, late morning_

xxxxx

"**ARGHHH!"**

Harry woke up, feeling as if all the gnomes in Weasley's garden decided to have a hammer party inside his skull … and on his body as well. He stuck out his head from the nest of blankets, looking owlishly around while wondering what the hell made that ghastly sound which woke him up.

"DIE YOU INSANE BIRD!"

Harry reached out for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on quickly. His vision cleared instantly and he had to bit into his lip right away to hold back a burst of laughter.

There was a small, hyperactive owl flying around their bedroom, hooting and attacking the blankets ceaselessly as if it had a real fun escaping the murderous claws of Harry's very ill-disposed lover.

"Kill it, Potter! KILL IT right now or I'LL DO IT!"

Though Harry was certain that it wasn't Pig since he received a letter from his friends just a few days ago, this owl definitely had some of Pig's manners. Enjoying the show for few more seconds, he finally said soothingly.

"You also wouldn't be overly happy if you had to fly over the ocean because of a letter which has nothing to do with you and once you reached the destination, you would learn that the addressee happily ignores you. Besides, I bet he's only hungry and thirsty."

An angered red eye peeked at him from beneath a hem of the blanket.

"YOU are the addressee, BOY! I'm certain the bird bugs ME just for fun."

"What a lovely creature," Harry said with a laugh. "No matter how much I bother you, I never get this reaction."

Harry looked away from the murderous glare, still smiling as he took his wand and conjured a small bowl. Another flick of his wand and it was filled with water to the brim. The bird finally stopped bouncing along and flew over to the bowl, drinking eagerly. Harry used that moment to untie an officially looking envelope from owl's tiny leg.

"It's from McGonagall,"he said wonderingly, gazing at his name written in emerald- green ink and then at the official purple wax seal bearing a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H on the other side of the letter.

"Wow … I feel like I'm eleven again. I wonder what is this about?"

Voldemort raised his head a bit and then sneered.

"Who said you've stopped being eleven?"

"I think," Harry countered as he broke the seal, "I'm going to write McGonagall that I'm keeping the owl." For torturing purposes, he thought for himself.

The red eyes narrowed into a tiny slits.

"If you want a pet, I'm certain that a snake is always much better option."

**_"I don't need another one,"_** Harry hissed curtly and opened the letter.

"You are...," Voldemort paused as if he tested the following word. "Mad at me," he finished after momentary hesitation.

"Oh, just as usual," Harry grumbled, trying to focus on the letter.

"No."

Harry dropped the paper.

"No?" he asked.

"More than usual."

Harry finally turned his head towards him and watched him with a blank face.

"Is it because of yesterday, right?" Voldemort finally asked. "I knew it. I knew it! I shouldn't have done anything!"

His voice broke a little and he turned his face quickly away to regain composure.

Harry felt a sharp prick of conscience. The fact that he didn't particularly enjoyed it didn't mean that he previously didn't give him his consent. Besides, Voldemort didn't do anything _really wrong _to him. He followed all the rules as he should; moreover, deep inside Harry was certain that he could make him stop anytime he asked for it. The fact that his pride didn't allow it was only his own problem. He had absolutely no right to feel angry at him.

But the fact that he did feel that way and that he couldn't help it made him even angrier – at himself.

"I knew you would hate me for it." The evident hurt in the other man's voice began to turn into bitterness. Harry quickly blinked, leaving his thoughts behind as he realized that his silence was confirming Tom's darkest thoughts.

"Look," he said quickly. "I admit I didn't exactly like most of the things which happened yesterday evening, so you were right with your presumption," Harry tried to explain it in all honesty. "But stop jumping to some utterly misleading conclusions like that I hate you for it!"

Voldemort didn't seem to be listening. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed, his back facing to Harry. Ultimately, he glanced over his shoulder as he spoke.

"I don't understand you," he said bitingly. "I clearly told you that you didn't have to do anything! Why did you let it happen then?"

"Is it so bad that I wanted you happy?" Harry asked as he crawled over the bed to sit beside him.

"Well, I don't feel particularly happy at the moment," Voldemort whispered sourly.

"Because I messed it up," Harry admitted, which made the ex-Dark Lord stare at him in disbelief.

"And may I ask where exactly have you messed it up? As far as I remember you were … very convincing … and everything," he said distractedly. "I enjoyed it tremendously. Though, right now, I wish I didn't."

"Really?" Harry whispered, feeling strangely praised. "Is that how it was for you?"

"Yes, but I shouldn't feel it that way!" Voldemort snarled and over his apparent anger Harry noticed how deeply embarrassed and remorseful he was. He watched him jerkily clutch his long snow-white fingers in display of nerves while ostentatiously avoiding his eyes. Harry was astonished.

"Tom...," he began, keeping his as neutral as he could since Voldemort usually didn't appreciate unguarded sentiment. "I'm sorry for snapping at you before. I was being irrational. I may sometimes act like an idiot for whatever stupid reason, but it doesn't mean that I love you any less than before. In fact, my feelings for you are only growing stronger by every moment. Please believe me," Harry implored, taking the slightly shaky, pale hand between his own. "Say … say you believe me..."

He held his gaze for seemingly endless moment, diving in the depths of the crimson eyes. Harry's worries from yesterday seemed futile to him now. He knew with undying certainty that his feelings are much stronger than anything reminding him what happened in the past.

"I … believe you," Tom finally said, his high voice strangely throaty and clouded by emotion.

"And I … yes, I love you too."

In that second, Harry felt like winning a billion pounds in a lottery.

"If you are sure that you can forgive such a miserable creature like me again, then I..."

And Harry kissed him, eagerly and passionately, as if there were no tomorrow. And at the very end of it, when they both ran out of breath and coherent thoughts, Harry slowly pulled away and said.

"There was one thing I really loved about the yesterday night. It was the moment when the great and merciless Lord Voldemort couldn't help but becoming affectionate with The-Boy-Who Lived."

"You kissed me. Twice," Harry explained to that questioning gaze he received.

"I don't recall falling out my role," the older man said, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

"I think that you couldn't stay in it any longer," Harry smiled.

"Oh...," Voldemort paused and then grinned slyly. "Interesting choice of words. By the way, I clearly remember that I could stay _in it much_ longer."

"Ha ha," Harry said and caught a questing hand which began to sneak up his thigh and under the blanket. "It's my turn now, dear. Don't tell me that you've forgotten this part as well."

"I didn't … but shouldn't you first read that letter?"

"Oh, right," Harry glanced at the parchment on his pillow. "I guess I should."

He forced his protesting muscles to move and climbed back on his bed. Then he fell on the pillow, supporting his weight on his elbows and unfolded the letter. His eyes briefly fell on the bowl before him, which was half empty. Then he realized that the bird was gone. Probably, he got tired of all that romance and flew outside to hunt some well-fed mice.

Harry snorted to himself and quickly read the few lines written in an elegant scrawl.

His smile froze on his lips as he read it again.

"Something's wrong?"

Tom lay close by his side watching his face intently.

Harry scratched his nose and then handed over the letter.

"Read," he said and dropped his head on the pillow.

He managed to count only up to eight when the man beside him exploded in rage.

"NO! Never! Don't you dare to accept it, Potter! Do you understand me?-!"

Harry sighed.

"The Headmistress must be rather desperate since she decided to ask me, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't say desperate, I would say foolishly daring," Voldemort retorted. "I shall write her back and inform her that if she doesn't wish to die horribly at the end of the next school year, she shouldn't suggest the same thing to you."

"No … it's not that. It just doesn't make much sense to me. I don't think I'm already qualified enough to be a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Harry mused aloud, staring into the bowl as if it held all the answers in the world.

"Don't you even dare to contemplate it, Harry Potter!" Voldemort hissed, his voice reaching a new level of iciness.

"You'd be much better candidate for the job. That's for sure," Harry continued in his musings, completely undisturbed.

"Well, if you haven't noticed, she didn't address that letter to _me_!"

"She couldn't do that."

"Excuse me?"

"She couldn't do that, Tom, don't you see? She couldn't possibly take such responsibility on her shoulders. Sure, it would solve her problem, since the curse would be broken the moment you accepted the job, right? But she couldn't possibly send that offer to you. I bet the governors would require her instant resignation if she did."

"But why did she send it to you then? As if I would ever allow you to risk your life by taking the job!"

"I am an Auror, Tom. Unofficially, true, I didn't finish all exams yet, still I don't mind risking my life, if necessary. But to the point," Harry stopped the already forming protest by raising his hand. "I can suggest a replacement for me. And then it would become _my_ responsibility."

Voldemort appeared to be breathless. Not even a muscle moved on his face.

"You'd be perfect for sure since you know all about the Dark Arts. Besides, your book had a tremendous success," Harry continued, waiting for Tom to wake from his stupor. He did a moment later with a silent hiss.

"Yes, I've noticed that crowd in the Diagon Alley who burned two hundred of its copies the next day after its release," he said icily.

"That was just a provocation. I'm fully convinced that each and every witch and wizard in that crowd has another copy hidden under their bed and that they're all secretly practicing the fundamentals every night before sleep," Harry held his own. "How else could you explain that remarkable improvement in efficiency of every Department on the Ministry which, by the way, nicely correlates with the numbers of sold copies of your book? Hermione wrote me many interesting details about it in her last letter and she is not the only one who finds it very amusing. Besides, she's definitely not the only one who thinks that your book is absolutely terrific."

"McGonagall knows it too," Harry continued, when Voldemort remained silent. "And I think she wants me to decide it. She knows that I won't probably accept the teacher's post since I have lot of other duties when we return home. And … you know … I'm aware how much you want the job so..."

"They won't let me teach," Voldemort cut him off, glaring somewhere ahead. "They won't risk that no matter how many recommendations you will send."

"Well, there might be some limitations for you at first such as … ten Aurors in every class … an Unbreakable Vow preventing you from killing or torturing students for forgotten homework and so on. But I think … I really think that you're not without a chance."

"Ten Aurors?" Voldemort asked suspiciously.

"Ah … well … maybe just one could be enough," Harry shrugged.

"You've discussed this with McGonagall already, haven't you?"

"Er...," Harry squirmed nervously. "Well, we might have had a purely hypothetical discussion about this topic once, yes. I never thought that she would really consider it. Not so soon at least."

"Yes, she must be really … desperate," Voldemort finally admitted. Then he smiled his creepy smile. "Fifty years of waiting ...I hope it will be worth it. Hah, I wonder how many kids will jump off the train once they know I boarded it as well."

This time it was Harry who raised an eyebrow.

"You know, Tom, I don't want to sound hypocritical or something, but you don't have to stay yourself _that_ much. Besides, I think that a handful of the Floo powder would be much more elegant and stylish, wouldn't it?"

"Naturally. By the way, I was joking about the train," Tom said with a stony expression.

"Ah … sure. You're getting much better in that," Harry nodded fervently. "Anyway," he said, trying to keep his face even, though the corners of his lips still twitched. "Can I take it that you have already decided? Are you ready to try it?"

"Of course I am. As long as you'll be my supervising Auror, I can't wait. I already look forward to seeing you in the class."

"Oh, I don't know if they would let me, you know. I mean, they would surely think I am biased … or whatever."

"I don't think so. I'm pretty sure everyone wants to see you using your famous 'evil-taming' abilities."

"Hey!" Harry protested, feeling a blush spread over his face.

"Though that probably wouldn't be anything for kids..."

Harry pressed his palm against his mouth and climbed on top of him.

"You know what? I feel like using one of them right now."

He couldn't wait to do it since the fire in his captive's eyes was literally asking for that. And as Harry leaned down to him, he decided that he was going to do his best to help Tom get his dreamed-of post, so he could become his supervisor. Because, in that case, he was bound to (have lots of fun and) _love_ his job!

_**R&R**_


End file.
